Virga
by Milena Jace
Summary: A librarian on the run for her life. An elaborate plot to plunge two nations into the chaos of war. A prophecy of a dead god returning. Bandits, monsters, assassins and a few small dragons thrown in for good measure. Just another day on Toril.
1. Prologue

A/n: it's been a while, but recently I've been inspired to write a new story about Estel. This one won't be a compilation of one-shots like my usual stories, but hopefully a complete novel.

Upd: As I finally removed the original Virga story (which embarrassed me with its existence for quite some time), I can rename this story the way it's meant to be named. So, if the change of name confused anyone, I apologize and elaborate: this fanfiction was formerly known as "Estel" and it is a retelling of the first game in Baldur's Gate series with some plot twists thrown in here and there. The story mainly focuses on character development and the main plot, but also contains Kivan romance.

Disclamer: you know the drill. Baldur's Gate belongs to Bioware. Kivan and Deheriana mod belongs to Domi Sotto. Will probably adapt some dialogue from BG1 NPC Project.

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><p>An elven girl balanced at the top of a creaky ladder with the easy grace of elvenkind. Nimble fingers traced the row of dusty tomes, the elf muttered to herself thoughtfully before stopping at the empty book-sized spot. With a triumphant "ah-ha!" she pulled up the heavy tome and slid it in place. One would think a librarian's job to be easy, just making sure that reading rooms were quiet and the books were checked in and out properly. But one never seemed to take into account the fact that said books were big and heavy in their leather bindings, the bookcases high and long, and attending to them trained both strength and agility.<p>

The great library was the elf's entire world. Ancient books told her stories of faraway lands, bookcases and ladders were the forests and mountains she climbed with the famous heroes of old… And yet often she longed for the dark waters of the Sea of Swords and green forests she could see beyond the mists when she climbed the keep's walls. She would sit there for hours, looking out into the stormy sea. The wind brought air from the lands she'd never see, and the elf would wish she could fly away.

Other times the stories her foster father told of the world beyond the walls of Candlekeep terrified her and made her glad for the safety of the library fortress. Bandits, monsters, villains and fretful gods could not hurt her in the books. The library was safe, familiar, she knew every turn and could find any book… and still, sometimes, she longed for the life beyond the walls, for her kin and the family that could've been hers if not for a badly-gone adventure that took her mother's life long time ago.

Her foster father, Gorion, was once an adventurer of some renown, himself. In his youth he traveled with her mother, he said, but beyond that the mage would not tell much on the topic.

A polite cough interrupted her daydreaming and the girl nimbly climbed down. When she was about her height above the ground, she jumped. The old monk shook his head disapprovingly and the elf grinned. She remembered him when he wasn't so grumpy and slow… and had more hair, for that matter. The first time she saw him, brother Marren was a bumbling acolyte whose ears tended to turn brilliant scarlet at any given opportunity. These days, it seemed, he was constantly in bad mood.

It was a sad thing. Humans were such brief creatures, often expiring long before an elf would even reach adulthood. Except for her father, of course, and the Keeper of the Tomes. The latter hadn't changed since the day Gorion brought her to the fortress: ever deceptively frail and slow, dry and dusty like the tomes that were his life, with those icy blue eyes boring into her ever suspiciously.

"Your father has returned," Marren announced to her and the girl's face lit up with joy. The monk harrumphed, disgruntled to act as a messenger. "He asked to see you before your lessons. Run along now, child."

She squealed in delight and ran for the exit, light on her feet. It was a rare sight in these solemn halls where only a chosen few were allowed to wander, and even for them the entry fee was high. There were no children in the keep, only monks in their gray robes who dedicated their lives to accumulate knowledge from all over the Realms. But many of them now could not imagine Candlekeep without the fleet-footed elven girl running errands, for she was here longer than them. And she knew the keep perhaps better than all of them. Her way now led out of the great library and up the many stairs to the tower where Gorion lived.

"Father!" she called out bursting into his chambers.

The old mage brought a finger to his lips, silencing her. That was when she noticed a small bundle that he held gingerly to his chest. The bundle squirmed and mumbled something incoherent. The elf looked up at her father with question, bursting from curiosity, and the old mage smiled into his beard. He held out the bundle for her, revealing a small baby sleeping in his arms. "Estel," he said quietly, careful not to disturb the baby. "Meet Imoen."

Estel frowned, still looking at the baby. It was human, most likely, but there was just something that didn't add up to her previous observations of the species. "She has pink hair," the elf blurted out.

"That she does," Gorion answered, clearly amused.

"Is she... going to stay here?" the girl looked up into her father's eyes, suddenly jealous. The Keeper of the Tomes never held back with expressing just how displeased he was with a child running amok in his library. And now her father just brought another? And she was human, like him... even if she had pink hair.

"No. I was thinking of asking Winthrop to take care of her. The poor man recently lost his wife and child in childbirth, I hear. What do you think?" his adopted daughter's reproach didn't escape the mage's eyes.

"I... yes, that would be nice," Estel said, trying to sound confident. It wasn't often that adults would ask for her opinion. Winthrop was the innkeeper for the local inn. Candlekeep was closed to visitors who couldn't prove their worth, but it required servants and food, it required guards and people to look after the animals. And such people had families. Of course, they weren't living in the keep itself, but in the small village beyond its walls, and Estel was cooped up in the fortress aside from short and rare errands into the village.

"I spoke to the captain of the guard on my way in," the mage said matter-of-factly. "I think it's time you learned some swordplay."

"Really?" the elf's blue eyes opened wide in disbelieving delight. She would surely become a swordsman to rival the heroes of her books by next week.

"Really. And perhaps you could visit this little creature in the village, after she grows up a bit," Gorion continued. "She'll need a friend."

Estel nodded enthusiastically, still enthralled by the visions of glorious adventures.


	2. Unhappy Birthday

"She is coming of age." The Keeper of the Tomes was looking out the window of his office. Down there archers were engrossed in target practice. Two young archers in particular immediately drew his eyes for the striking coloring of their hair – pink and vivid auburn, - and their more slender forms. As he watched, the auburn-haired one notched the arrow and drew her bow in a practiced movement, the long sleeves of her dress flapping in the wind. The pink-haired girl watched attentively and tried to emulate. "You know it is time."

"She is not ready," Gorion moved to stand next to him and watch as his foster daughter adjusted Imoen's stance. The mage smiled fondly as the advice on bow-drawing turned into a tickling competition. He could hear their laughter from up here.

"The walls of Candlekeep will not protect her for much longer. You know it," the Keeper of the Tomes brought one of his dry spotted hands up to rub his bearded chin thoughtfully.

"Yes, I am aware of the prophecy, Ulraunt," the mage answered, still watching his ward. Estel was becoming quite the archer. And yet the way she drew her bow was imperfect, crude, more suited for a human than an elf. Gorion felt a pang of guilt every time he was reminded of how he robbed her of the childhood she should've had among her people, of the joy of communion and knowledge of the Spirit, but it was done to protect her. And once she came of age, she would be protected no longer. Not from those who wished to harm her and not from herself.

"You have grown too attached to the girl," the Keeper of the Tomes stated disapprovingly.

"She needed a father," Gorion said simply. It was his part of the intricate plan laid down by several powerful wizards who knew of the prophecy. But it was difficult not to love those blue eyes that looked up at him with such open trust. For over a hundred years he stayed with her, reading her bedtime tales, treating her scraped knees, teaching her to read… she was in all but blood his daughter. But now the time was approaching for the next stage of the plan. When it all began, he couldn't wait to be done with it and get on with the life he abandoned to settle down in Candlekeep with his foster daughter, and yet… "She still does."

"She has taken all she can from you and from this place," Ulraunt contradicted him stubbornly. "She can only learn the rest on the road."

"Then I will go with her," Gorion decided as he watched his daughter chat lively with the guards.

"You are taking too much risk, Gorion."

"No more than we are putting her into."

"And what of the other one?" Ulraunt winced slightly as Imoen jumped on the guards back and extended her arm like a mounted general ordering her troops forward. The training grounds burst with laughter. At least it would be quiet once they were gone.

"She will follow anyway, that one," Gorion smirked. "It is best if she doesn't suspect of her role."

"I am glad you can still think clearly when it comes to at least one of them," The Keeper of the Tomes said wryly, not an ounce of approval in his voice. "Where will you go?"

"Where does anyone in these parts go? I am hoping to catch Jaheira and Khalid at the Friendly Arms," Gorion drummed his fingers on the windowsill thoughtfully. "We will see from there."

"Do they know?" Ulraunt narrowed his icy eyes.

"No," the mage shook his head. "They assume she is the daughter of one of my friends."

"It is decided, then. Obviously you cannot be dissuaded from this course," the Keeper grunted. "Do not tarry. Each day you remain here brings greater risk to Candlekeep."

Outside the merriment continued. Gorion watched as Imoen dragged away Estel and some young recruit – Gern, he thought his name was, - hugging both tightly by their necks. How fast she grew up compared to Estel, his eternal child. It was still difficult to think of those two as young women. Perhaps Ulraunt was right. Perhaps Gorion did let his love for his daughter cloud his judgment.

"At least let her have her birthday here," he asked the Keeper of the Tomes. "In a few days we will be gone."

* * *

><p>"We are leaving, child."<p>

Estel squinted sleepily in the candlelight, too drowsy to understand the words spoken to her. She looked down at the traveling clothes and leather armor her father threw on the bed. Only a few hours ago they returned from the birthday celebration in the village. The celebration was a small one. Still, one had to give it to Imoen: she had a knack for doing something out of nothing. Her foster father's inn was drowning in flowers, the few travelers that happened to stay there at the time were appropriately dumbfounded but after a couple pints of local ale joined the congratulations like they knew Estel their entire lives.

"Estel!" Gorion called her urgently, a full backpack in his hand. The elf rubbed her eyes and only then noticed that he was wearing his traveling robes and holding the oak staff in his other hand. "Get dressed. We need to go."

She put on the clothes he brought her, still too sleepy to struggle with the straps and buckles of armor on her own. Her father strapped a short sword to her belt, slipped her bow and quiver over her shoulders. Once they were done, Gorion put the backpack on her and carefully brought her long hair from under it. For a moment he just stood there, his hands full of thick tresses shining in the flickering light of the candle.

"Father?" the young elf turned around and looked up into his face to find it full of sadness and fear. "What's happening?"

"We're going to the Friendly Arms Inn to meet some old friends of mine," he snapped back to reality. Ulraunt was right, they shouldn't have lingered this long. He adjusted the hem of her shirt and made sure that the backpack's straps were not going to chafe her shoulders. "They are half-elves by the names Khalid and Jaheira. If something happens… you can trust them. They'll make sure you're safe."

"What happens? Is there someone after you?" Estel grabbed Gorion's arm as he turned to leave. It was difficult to imagine that anyone could cause such anxiety in a powerful mage like her father, and yet… It frightened her. She didn't want to leave. "This library is a fortress! Surely you'd be safer here…"

"No," Gorion didn't stop and she had to skip along just to keep up. "We'll be safer on the road, moving."

He led her out of the keep quickly as she showered him with frantic questions. All of a sudden the familiar lights of Candlekeep were behind them and they entered the dark forest. The stream of questions dried out on its own as intimidating darkness enveloped the travelers. Estel tried to convince herself that as an elf she should be at ease with the rustling of night creatures and hooting of owls, but there was something threatening about dark shapes of trees against moonlight, movements barely out the corner of her eye, strange sounds she had never before heard in the safe confines of the great library. With sudden clarity she felt that they were alone. The forest would not help them.

A tug of her father's hand urged her to pick up her pace. They were off the road, treading the beast trails he somehow knew. But despite everything the warmth of his large hand enveloping hers made her feel safer. She could almost imagine them back in the top room of his tower, watching the night sky through the transparent roof as she recited constellations to him. For hours they worked their way through the forest hand in hand, until Gorion suddenly stopped, glancing around with a frown. Estel looked up at him, puzzled. To her keen but dreadfully inexperienced ears the night forest sounded normal, even if it was terrifying kind of normal. Yet there was a feeling she couldn't quite associate with any of her normal senses that filled her with icy dread. Something was coming purposefully toward them from all sides, surrounding them like dark mist, herding them. She gripped her father's hand more tightly and he answered with a reassuring squeeze before disentangling himself.

"Keep behind me," he whispered and got a better grip on his staff.

She heard him before she saw him. The clanking of heavy armor, faint at first, but unnatural against the usual sounds of the forest, gave him away. To her inflamed imagination he appeared a giant, a creature that simply could not be man. In the moonlight his dark spiky armor was throwing long peculiar shadows that crept toward her like oily-black crooked fingers. His sharp giant teeth were bared in a constant feral grin that seemed to split his horned head in half. His eyes, glowing with malicious yellow light, were immediately drawn to her as if there was no one else standing between them.

"Hand over your ward and you can walk away," his voice thundered. Estel shrank behind her father's back. He wanted her. He came for her, and wherever she tried to run, he would hunt her down.

"Lay down your weapons and _you_ can walk away," Gorion answered, his strong and calm voice making her believe that they would get through this and in the morning it would just be a quickly fading nightmare. Estel reached for her sword handle, the familiar weapon fitting comfortably in her small hand.

But, just as she was beginning to think that everything would be fine, the creature laughed. It was a deep, self-assured laugh that chilled her to the bone. From the shadows all around them dark figures stepped out. Too many. Perhaps too many even for her father.

"Prepare to run when I clear you a path," Gorion whispered calmly, his fingers reaching for spell components in a pouch on his belt.

"I can fight with you!" Estel whispered back, not quite sure that she could even move, but still refusing to abandon her father.

"I will find you, child. Run once you see an opening," Gorion insisted in the same irrefutable tone he used to tell her to finish her dinner.

"Old fool!" the creature rumbled and motioned for his men to attack.

Estel didn't remember much of what happened next. Drawn steel was gleaming in moonlight and flashes of magic released by her father. Shadows dashed around the forest clearing, cursing loudly. The creature roared and fell over as one of Gorion's spells hit him. The mage waved his staff at two of the attackers that blocked Estel's way and they were blown away. "Run!" he commanded, and the elf found her legs carrying her away from the battle into the hushed forest. Behind her the creature roared for someone to follow her, and she picked up her pace, scrambling franticly over the roots and mud. Another scream sounded behind her and was cut off abruptly, but it wasn't her father's. It couldn't possibly be.

She ran, slipping in mud and tripping on twisted roots, barely ducking under the branches that threatened to blind her. Once her long hair got caught in them and she nearly cried out in pain, but dared not alert the attackers to her presence. She didn't hear anything behind her, but that could just mean that they were stalking her quietly, waiting for her to give away her location, so she dared not stop or come back for her father. Not knowing which way she was running, she only focused on small achievements like climbing over a fallen tree or running up the hill without her knees buckling.

Sometime in the small hours of the morning it began to rain. Frozen to the bone and exhausted, Estel nestled between the roots of an old tree, bringing her knees to her chest in an attempt to somehow stop shaking. She didn't care if they caught her now, even if they killed her. She was so tired and the forest drowned in dim morning light around her was so cold and inhospitable that she found herself wishing for them to find her. For someone to find her.

Maybe father would come. Maybe they would sit by the fire together, him telling her about a lifetime of adventures he once had, and she would be warm and safe. Enveloped in those memories like in a warm blanket Estel soon slipped into reverie, oblivious to the dangers of the waking forest.


	3. On the Art of Disguise

The rustling of footsteps invaded the warm memories, setting off warning bells. At first she tried to convince herself that it was merely the crackling of fireplace by which she sat with Gorion, recently returned from a trip on some Candlekeep business. But the sound was getting louder, and the illusion faded. Estel felt the movement in front of her and reached for the sword, opening her eyes at the same time.

"It's just me. Sheesh!" Imoen stopped and raised her hands. Estel could not believe her eyes, but there could be no one else with such strange hair, even darkened by water and plastered to the girl's face as it was. Like her, Imoen was wearing simple comfortable clothes suited for traveling, only hers were pink – not a color usually chosen to blend in. She had a quiver strapped to her back and a short bow in her hand.

"What are you doing here?" the elf wiped the dew off her face, but it was no use – she was drenched. The risen sun warmed the air, however, and now it was stiflingly humid instead of freezing, a change that provided little comfort.

"Really? That's all you have to say?" Imoen put her hands on her hips, looking over the elf she was used to think of as her elder sister. Or little sister, depending on the mood. After a couple of seconds of this silent scrutiny she threw her hands up in the air. "You look terrible! And Gorion... And those people... What happened?"

"You saw?" Estel rubbed her eyes, nestling deeper into the roots. So it wasn't just a nightmare. The two of them were close, but not in a habit of sharing dreams.

"I... followed you two," a mix of shame and pride briefly showed in Imoen's downcast eyes and a grin she fought back. "I'm kind of amazed at myself, really. I saw this letter Gorion was writing, left on his table, - very sloppy, I mean it just lied there, it's not like I looked for it or anything! - and it said that he was going to take you away from here! And I thought 'there's no way Imoen the Quick is going to abandon her little sister to a life of adventures and glory, no sir!' Wait, that did not sound right..." the girl frowned thoughtfully, but regained some semblance of seriousness after seeing Estel's tired face. "Anyway... as I said, I followed you two. Gorion didn't even hear me coming, I mean how good am I? And then those people attacked you..."

"Did you see how it ended?" the elf's ears perked up hopefully. For many elves and humans alike, father was that strong, immovable pillar on which the world stood, and that pillar simply could not be destroyed. There was no one stronger than father, nor kinder. He would always come and somehow make everything alright. It did not matter that they did not share the same blood.

Imoen hesitated, uncharacteristically lost for words. She knelt in front of Estel and took the elf's hands in hers. The look on her face explained everything better than any words could.

"No," Estel breathed out in disbelief. "No, no, no..." she pulled her hands out of Imoen's grip and backed away into the tree.

"I'm so sorry," Imoen whispered. "He killed most of them, I think, and wounded that guy in scary armor, but there were just too many. They... cut him down, and then dragged that guy away. And I ran after you..."

Estel stared at her, barely registering the girl's words. The world was wrong, illogical, it just didn't seem possible that anyone could best Gorion. And yet somewhere deep inside she knew that it was true, and everything was different now. The world had shattered. The elf's tilted blue eyes narrowed decisively. The creature that killed Gorion wanted her. And she cowered. He was sure to keep hunting her, and next time she won't be so pathetic.

"Estie? You're kinda scaring me here," Imoen said carefully, leaning down to look into the elf's eyes. "Shouldn't we go back? You know, to... to bury him?"

"No," Estel cut her off. "They could be waiting for us there." She started to rise, leaning on the tree for support.

"But... Gorion..." Imoen backed away slightly, alarmed by the drastic change in the elf's face.

"Gorion told me to go to the Friendly Arm. Some friends of his are waiting for us there," Estel slid the backpack from her shoulders and started rummaging through its contents in hopes that Gorion put in a map. It was indeed there. A wave of fondness washed over her at the memory of the man who took care of her and taught her how to read maps, quickly replaced by anger at the one who took him away. She had no idea why anyone would be interested in her, but it did not matter at the moment, only that he took the life of her father. "Let's go."

In Estel's mind, she pictured quick retribution, preferably around the next tree so that she could still go back before dark to bury Gorion. Reality of adventuring, however, proved to be quite different from the expectations of someone who never ventured beyond the walls of a fortress their entire life. The world was, for starters, much larger than she imagined. When they finally saw the walls of the Friendly Arm Inn, the sun has already set.

"It's not an inn, it's a fortress!" Imoen exclaimed, wide-eyed. Nothing, it seemed, could sour her mood, she was dead-set on becoming a renowned adventurer. Mysterious and tragic pasts were pretty much pre-requisite to becoming one, she told Estel.

The elf, however, was not amused. The long walk in the forest was tiring, but above all it gave time for the mind to process everything that happened last night. It was foolish to assume she could avenge her father. The creature that was able to slay him would be just too powerful for her. That thought had soon edged out all other, more hopeful or angry thoughts, leaving the elf hopeless and tired again. She felt pathetic.

"Are you by any chance Estel from Candlekeep?" a friendly voice called out to her as soon as they entered the inn-fortress. Estel looked up immediately, her hope renewed at the sight of its owner's slightly pointy ears and tilted eyes that left the overall impression of him being mostly-human-but-not-quite. Gorion told her to look for two half-elves, after all. "I was told to expect someone of your description."

"I am," she answered immediately. Imoen was busy studying the half-elf's robes and a book that was strapped to his belt. She was always fascinated by magic and every time her chores took the girl to Gorion's tower she'd find any excuse to linger and ogle the many magic trinkets he had collected over time. "Are you Khalid?"

"Yes... that is my name," the stranger answered after a second of hesitation that would've immediately been picked up by anyone. Apparently except for a naive elven girl that never left the monastery. The half-elf's gaze briefly flickered to the guards posted at the gate. "You look terrible, poor girl. I have a room at the inn, would you like to rest there?"

"Is he a friend of Gorion's?" Imoen whispered to her as they followed the man into the inn. Estel nodded.

"He said I could trust the half-elves Khalid and Jaheira," she answered quietly.

"Is Jaheira waiting for us inside, then?" Imoen raised her voice, addressing the mage now.

"Jaheira? No, she's... scouting," the half-elf turned briefly to look at them. Imoen frowned. This Khalid seemed shifty to her, not at all someone she expected to be Gorion's trusted friend. And she couldn't help wondering if it was fear she saw in his eye when he heard Jaheira's name.

Estel followed meekly, her eyes on the stranger's back. He led them to a room upstairs and locked the door. The sound of the key turning in the lock suddenly felt ominous. Imoen turned to him and gave the man one more thorough look. Half-elves often inherited their elven parent's beauty and elegance, but there was something in his face that irked her.

"So how do you know Gorion?" she asked conversationally, looking around the room. There was nothing special about it, no personal touches that would've hinted at the person that lived here.

"You're a chatty little thing, aren't you?" the mage turned to them, and Imoen's uneasiness was only strengthened by the fact that he was standing between them and the door. For his part, the half-elf was studying Estel with vague contempt on his face that he hasn't quite managed to hide. "And you are not what I expected. Ah well, this will help you rest," with those words he began a gesture with one hand, the other one reaching for a pouch with spell components on his belt. Imoen reached for her dagger, throwing a quick glance over at Estel, but the elven girl was frozen to the spot, her eyes wide with late realization.

He never had his chance to finish whatever spell he wanted to use. With the loud crash and the choking cloud of dust the door behind him came down, knocking the mage off his feet. Two figures rushed into the room, weapons drawn. At that moment Estel had finally found her ability to move and faced the newcomers with her sword in hand.

"Calm yourself!" the woman lowered her staff and held up her hand in a warning gesture. Just like the mage's, her features hinted at her mixed heritage, although in her case the elven side felt more obvious. It was easy to imagine her stalking silently through the forest with deadly grace of elvenkind and inherent knowledge of the woods. "My name is Jaheira, this is my husband Khalid," she said with melodic accent to her words that Estel couldn't quite place. "And you are very foolish."

"Thanks," Imoen drew out sarcastically and crossed her arms, looking at Jaheira's companion, a half-elf that was checking the mage for life signs. "We had everything under control, grandma."

"Indeed," the half-elf raised an eyebrow, regarding Imoen critically. "Two children raised in a monastery, never having seen the outer world. It is a far more treacherous place than you imagine."

"Hey! I am no kid! And Estel here is older than you!" Imoen pointed a finger at the older woman. "Probably."

"And speaking of treacherous," the elf said, her eyes never leaving Jaheira's face. It did not seem the face of a liar. On the contrary, her face wore stern and blunt expression, her dark tilted eyes narrowing slightly in keen attention. "How are we to know you two are who you say you are? We were deceived today once already."

The half-elven woman nodded with satisfaction, as if she'd be disappointed with any other answer. "I can show you his last letter asking us to wait for him – and you, - here. There were also instructions to help you if he were... unable to do it himself," she was silent for a moment, watching Estel thoughtfully and not without sadness. "Gorion is an old friend, to both of us. Ask me anything about him that will help alleviate your suspicions, and I will answer. Answer me this first, however. Why is he not with you?"

"He is dead," Estel stated bleakly, finally lowering her sword.

"We s-suspected as much," the man finally entered conversation. He stood up next to Jaheira and adjusted his well-worn armor. "Our c-c-condolences, ch-child." Estel nodded. Khalid had a nervous quality to him that, if Estel met him alone, would immediately raise suspicions. In addition to slight stuttering, his eyes were constantly in motion, scouting the surroundings for whatever threat he expected to leap at him, and his fingers were sometimes subconsciously playing with his sword's handle.

"Then you should come with us," Jaheira said decisively, quickly overcoming whatever grief she might have felt at the news.

"You mean like adventuring? You guys are adventurers, right?" Imoen chimed in.

"...of a sort," Jaheira answered with slight annoyance. "We are investigating the recent iron shortage in this region." At this explanation Imoen's excitement decreased significantly. It definitely didn't sound like the beginnings of a legendary adventure. "It might get dangerous, but you'll be safer with us than on your own."

"You are h-h-hunted," Khalid handed the letter he took off the would-be assassin to his wife. Jaheira frowned as she read it. "There is your d-description, very th-thorough. D-do you know why anyone c-could be after you?"

"No," Estel rubbed her face tiredly. She had assumed Gorion's old enemies caught up with him, but the creature that killed him wanted her, not her father, and she spent the whole morning trying to understand why.

The mage groaned, not quite conscious yet, drawing attention back to himself. Khalid lifted him off the floor with surprising ease for a little stuttering man and threw the mage's arm over his shoulders.

"I'll g-get him to Bentley, d-dear, if you'll take care of the children," he said.

"Hey, I'm no kid!" Imoen shouted after him.

"Come. We have a room where you can rest," Jaheira went out, completely ignoring the pink-haired girl's indignation.

Once they were settled, Jaheira insisted that Estel had to change her appearance in order to throw assassins off the trail. Imoen graciously offered the pink dye she used to return her hair that impossible pink color it had when she was a child, but was firmly rejected.

Estel watched in a small mirror propped against the wall as Jaheira worked on her hair. The skin on the back of her neck felt unfamiliarly cold and tender, open to the air by a few careless slices of the older woman's dagger. Long auburn tresses, fallen to the floor, glistened in the light, but the half-elf readjusted her head firmly every time Estel tried to look down. In a few minutes, Jaheira put away the dagger and smeared the remaining hair generously in black grease with a strong herbal scent that made the elf sneeze.

Half an hour later Estel stared at the unfamiliar boy whose black hair looked... well, like it was cut carelessly with a dagger. The boy stared back at her with his huge cerulean eyes, his long sylvan ears pressed to his scalp apprehensively.

"We have a lot of ground to cover," Jaheira's impatient voice brought her back to reality.


	4. A Hamster and his Man

Rieltar Anchev stormed into his foster son's quarters to see with his own eyes what the servants had already reported to him. Sarevok sat on the bed with his shirt off, glaring in annoyance at the healer tending to the ugly burn that covered his left shoulder. Once the young man noticed his father's approach the annoyance on his face turned to outright despisal. There was no love between father and son, and both had long since stopped pretending otherwise. Perhaps around the time Sarevok's mother was killed, strangled by Rieltar in front of the boy. There was, however, certain grain of respect for the man who showed him at such young age how the real world worked.

"You were told!" the older man spat angrily. "You were told to oversee the progress at Nashkel mines, not go gallivanting through the forest after your own quarries!"

"A dimwitted half-orc can oversee that," Sarevok answered coolly. "In fact, I believe a dimwitted half-orc does."

Rieltar paced furiously, momentarily at loss for words. The truth was, Sarevok liked to think, that the man feared him and believed that he needed more control over his foster son in order to keep him from his neck. But Sarevok needed him, for now. He needed to be here to twist his father's plan to his own ends. Such a trivial plan it was, its architect such a trivial man hunting after worldly power and riches, unsuspecting that he was helping a new god to be born. Yes, he needed Rieltar for now. But when he floods the SwordCoast in blood, his murderous father will be one of the first to drown.

Rieltar turned to him briskly. "You will seize these disappearances of yours and concentrate on our plan," he said in a voice that allowed no objections.

"But that is exactly what I was doing, father," the young man said, his intelligent brown eyes looking calmly at Rieltar, betraying little of the hatred underneath. They were strange eyes, piercing and far too bright for a human, and made many a man squirm under their scrutiny. Rieltar felt his own resolve falter under his son's gaze and more anger rose to snuff out nervousness. "It seems the Harpers involved themselves sooner than we had anticipated. I went out to stop one of their agents."

"You are to do what you are told, not act rashly without consulting me!" Rieltar spat and stormed off, determined to have the last word. In the doors he nearly ran into the frail and nervous-looking wizard who served the family for many years. "Will you watch where you're going, old fool!"

The wizard bowed apologetically, clutching a book to his near-nonexistent chest. He was always carrying one book or another, at least Sarevok was pretty certain he'd never seen his old teacher without one.

"Winski," the young man said as the wizard approached him carefully. An observer would be surprised to see that, while there was considerably less disdain in Sarevok's face when he looked at Winski Perorate than when he looked at his father, it was not a look generally reserved for an old mentor. Winski was the first to recognize Sarevok for what he was and show him the respect he deserved. It was during one of his lessons that Sarevok found out about the prophecy and immediately felt with absolute certainty that it spoke of his rise. It was through Winski's guidance that Sarevok learned the truth of his birth and harnessed his inherent powers. But Winski was not a mentor to him. It was Sarevok's destiny, his very birthright to be feared and worshiped, and Winski was merely the first to do so.

"It appears you have been... less than successful," the old wizard said carefully. He knew the boy since Sarevok started learning how to read, but now, knowing what he really was, Winski couldn't help the feeling of dark foreboding. He would die before this was over, he knew. One way or the other. Sarevok was destined for greatness. And if a little man like Winski could show him the way, maybe his name would be remembered as well. Maybe that was worth it. "Perhaps our man at the Friendly Arm Inn will-"

"It appears a girl bested the mighty Sarevok," a woman's voice, thick with foreign accent, drew out sarcastically behind them. Winski jumped in surprise, but Sarevok simply turned to see the slim figure step out of the shadows. In the light it was revealed to be a small woman dressed in dark-gray clothes that concealed her much better than impressive black ever could. Tamoko had the ability to somehow blend with the background, unfocus herself, making the eye just slide over her as if she were a piece of furniture.

"How long have you been standing there?!" the wizard demanded, his voice breaking.

Tamoko's dark tilted eyes glinted with amusement at Winski's shock, but she soon grew serious as she approached to inspect the fresh red scar where Gorion's magic burned through Sarevok's armor. She touched the wound with her fingertips. "You scared me back there."

"A lucky shot," Sarevok covered her hand with his.

"Often that is all that's needed," the woman said quietly. Winski started edging away, feeling like the fifth wheel.

"Not to a god," Sarevok answered, the tenderness that showed in his eyes at the previous gesture making place for arrogance. He knew that Tamoko silently – or sometimes not so silently, - disapproved of his decision to follow his destiny. But he would be a god, and she would be his first priestess. She would be. He only had to crush those who would oppose him and nothing would stand in the way of his ascension. "Winski."

The wizard stopped and looked questioningly at him.

"Put out the girl's description. I want every scumbag from here to the Spine of the World after her," Sarevok ordered. The old man bowed in answer, his long robes sweeping the floor.

* * *

><p>Estel trudged through the forest, following the swift and silent form of Jaheira who was, sometimes theoretically, somewhere ahead of them. The forest did not comply with the young elf. In her experience, forest was something that happened to other people. And so it tugged at her cloak, spread roots for her to trip on and generally refused to admit that she was, by blood, a daughter of forest lords. But the half-elven woman was different. The forest obviously had no problem with <em>her<em>, despite Jaheira being half-human. That was… annoying. As was the older woman's air of superiority.

Still, the way she blended with the surroundings was uncanny. Estel's mind immediately offered an article on druids she once came across in her studies. It was as if the great library was still with her, in her mind, even if she left it forever. In a way, the thought was very comforting. As for the druids, they were protectors of the wilderness and as such completely at home there, capable of tirelessly crossing great distances, finding food or sensing poisons in the water. Some of them could even assume shapes of animals, an ability which somehow made Estel imagine the half-elf as a grumpy badger.

"What are you laughing at?" Imoen was immediately at her side, tired from walking but never losing her sense for possible amusement.

"Just… you know," Estel turned her head to check whether anyone else noticed, and once again found herself distracted by a strange sensation or rather the lack of it. Where before was a heavy wave of hair that would unhurriedly follow her every movement, now was the cooling touch of breeze on the bare skin of her neck. The elf scratched the back of her head, wondering at the feeling.

"Are you t-tired?" Khalid, tasked with bringing up the rear, caught up to them.

With certain degree of satisfaction Estel noted that the warrior wasn't quite as adept at moving silently through the forest as his druid wife, even though he obviously picked up a few tricks over the course of their travels.

At Khalid's urging they picked up the pace, and soon the trail brought them to the edge of a small town. According to Jaheira who led them, carefully avoiding roads and settlements, this was Nashkel. Estel's memory stated that there wasn't much to say about this miners' settlement except its proximity to, quite unexpectedly, Nashkel mines. Except now the miners were disappearing down in the mines, and the townsfolk sent out a call for adventurers to solve this mystery and hopefully return the missing fathers and husbands to their homes. But still, walking through the main and possibly only street of the town, Estel caught apprehensive glances that said that, while the adventurers were indeed invited, the honest workers were none too happy about hosting a variety of vagabonds that generally made a living out of plundering of ancient temples.

Imoen, on the other hand, seemed unperturbed by those glances. She waved happily to the townsfolk and marched proudly with her band of honorable adventurers, no doubt already picturing herself a savior of these people. As for Jaheira and Khalid, they seemed used to such greeting and paid it no mind as they proceeded to the mayor's house.

Just as they approached, another visitor – no doubt an adventurer, because he definitely did not look like a miner, and these days those were the only two types of people that came to Nashkel, - came out the door. That "adventurer" assumption made Imoen glare at the potential stealer of her glory, but that glare was more than a little diluted with curiosity. The adventurer was of elven kind, and quite short and slim as elves went, his manner and long purple robes giving away a preference of magic as his tools of trade, - and even if Imoen and Estel could not call themselves experts when elves were concerned, they had definitely seen a lot of mages visiting the library, - but under the grey cloak there was a quite definite shape of a sword strapped to his belt. The cloak itself was a point of fascination for Estel. Elven-made, it flowed down from his shoulders, the unbelievably smooth grey material begging to be touched. She was sure it would feel soft and warm in her fingers.

The elf, in turn, looked at them, and there was hopeless tiredness of the whole world in the lines of his ageless face and in his bright tilted eyes. When his gaze shifted to Estel and he noticed her unmistakably elven features, tiredness descended into abyssal despair. He almost started to say something, but the air he gathered for the speech came out as a hopeless sigh, and the elf passed them without another glance.

"What was that all about?" Imoen was the first to give voice to her confusion. "Did he decide that it was pointless to compete with us?"

"Obviously because we have the mighty me," Estel muttered, her eyes glued to the retreating grey cloak. The encounter with another elf left her strangely unsettled, and the girl found refuge in the library, as she was prone to do these last days. The words "grey cloak" seemed significant. There were the legendary Greycloaks of Evereska, of course, but surely they did not wear grey cloaks all the time. Grey cloak was a sensible choice for traveling, and that was it. Still, Imoen would probably consider their first adventure much more exciting if a Greycloak was investigating the trouble in the mines.

"Right," Imoen drew out, grinning. "Come on, let's find an inn while Auntie Jaheira speaks with the mayor."

"You will stay with us," Jaheira said coldly, given up on trying to stop Imoen from calling her 'Auntie', but still annoyed by it. Her mood wasn't helped by the fact the druid would prefer not to stay in the town for the night and move on instead. "Or have you forgotten what danger you're in?"

"Nobody's going to recognize her!" Imoen ruffled Estel's short hair as Exhibit A, and the elf bristled. "Come on!" She dragged Estel away, leaving Khalid to convince his fuming wife that nothing could happen to them in the inn that was only a dozen steps away. He was wrong, of course. Imoen could find adventures (or trouble, depending how you looked at things) simply by walking into them. Following her, Estel nearly walked into a huge man. She recoiled immediately, grabbing the hilt of her sword, because the man definitely looked like one of _those_ adventurers. The kind that plundered ancient temples and weren't too shy to take money for hunting down an elven girl. Grubby clothes made from rough leather, shaved head, war paint…

"Are you adventurers?" the man asked hopefully, and Estel's scrutiny finally reached his eyes. She had to admit, he really did not seem that terrifying at second glance. Under the war paint his face was open and somewhat simple, and his eyes looked at her almost pleadingly. "You don't look like adventurers, but Boo says those two half-elves you came here with look very experienced."

"Indeed we are, sir! And who's Boo?" Imoen asked, looking at the stranger with excited curiosity.

"Boo is Minsc's companion," the man explained, as if it was obvious. "Say hello, Boo."

Something on his shoulder moved, revealing itself to be not a part of collar, but in fact a living hamster, which provoked a 'Oh dear gods, there are rodents living in those unkempt clothes of his' reaction out of Estel and a delighted squeal out of Imoen. Boo twitched his nose friendly.

"Uh… hello, Boo," the elf said, still staring at the hamster. "And what can we do for you?"

"Our witch got stolen!" the pleading look returned to Minsc's face. "You have to help us!"


	5. A Damsel in Distress

"Do you even know anything about gnolls?" Jaheira flung her arms in frustration.

"Well… They are a savage hyena-like people that embrace their primal instincts, reveling in hunt and violence, which in addition to their supposed demonic origins and known affinity for carrion eating led to their quite fearsome reputation," Estel said thoughtfully. "Feargus Hillsworth in his 'Traveling with gnolls' writes that they place extreme value in family and blood ties, and those gnolls who find themselves alone may sometimes form a surrogate family to which they are fiercely loyal. But this loyalty does not usually extend beyond the pack (or surrogate pack, as it were), so gnolls often fight among themselves and mostly wander around the eastern Faerun scavenging, hunting animals or, well… other sentient beings." The elf rubbed her chin. "Oh, the other interesting thing about gnolls is that scavenging I mentioned. Did you know that they always collect trophies, even if said trophy is just some grubby piece of clothing? That tradition actually goes back to them tracking their target by the smell using some personal belongings." There was silence. Estel frowned and crossed her arms defensively against four bewildered pairs of eyes that stared at her, not counting one belonging to a hamster that groomed its fur with abandon. "What?"

Jaheira rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh. "Have you actually seen one?"

After a moment of hesitation the girl jerked her chin up challengingly. "If you're asking whether I'd recognize one, then yes. There were quite detailed pictures and description. They are very tall, mostly resemble bipedal hyenas with light to dark brown furry hides, no major difference between males and females… By the way, did you know they keep hyenas as pets?"

"Alright, alright!" Jaheira held up one hand to stop the flow of 'interesting facts' and used the other to pinch the bridge of her nose. This was why she didn't want children. They gave her headache. It was inconceivable how anyone in this world could be so naïve. Was she herself ever so naïve? The druid answered that with a definite 'no'. "Do any of your books mention tortured slaves who live short and painful lives at the end of which they are devoured by their masters, and those few who happen to be saved, are so hopelessly broken that ending their lives is a mercy? What about eating their victims alive and creating horrible abominations out of their tortured souls during dark rituals dedicated to their demonic master?"

"Well… yes," Estel stole a quick look at Minsc. The man paled significantly while listening to Jaheira, and that strengthened her resolve. Gnolls were primitive scavengers. Surely they could not pose a challenge for a group of experienced adventurers. Of course, that was the problem, wasn't it? "But that's exactly why we must hurry to get Dynaheir out of there!"

By the look of her, Jaheira was praying for patience. "Judging by your new barbarian friend's story," she cast a somewhat suspicious glance at Minsc and the crestfallen man straightened hopefully. The druid shook her head in disbelief. "Judging by his story, we are not talking about some vagrant pack. These gnolls have a well fortified stronghold; we don't have the numbers for an assault like this!" Four pairs of puppy eyes, counting one very expressive hamster, stared at her pleadingly. "Our task is to investigate the mines, not…" Jaheira let out another exasperated sigh. "Stop it."

"We could just sneak in, sneak out," Imoen proposed. "Can't you turn into a hawk or something?"

"Or something," Jaheira repeated, rubbing her forehead.

"Yep. You fly over that stronghold, find our damsel in distress, and then we swoop down on those savages and save her!" Imoen made a swooshing gesture with her hand.

"It is a grim f-fate to become a slave to gnolls," Khalid said gently to his wife. Jaheira sent a scalding glare his way, but the man held his own. "I know our t-task takes priority, but a d-delay of few days will hardly be critical." Estel and Imoen stared at him, surprised. They've known Khalid only for a few days and had little respect for the nervous stuttering man who generally followed his despotic wife's lead. But there he was, calmly insisting on his point of view, and Jaheira caved, proving that there was more to this pair that met the eye.

"Fine," the druid said tiredly after a pause. "We'll investigate it."

"Hear that, Boo?" Minsc all but jumped up and down in excitement. "The noble heroes will save beautiful Dynaheir from the clutches of evil!"

* * *

><p>Like the Rashemi said, the gnoll pack occupied some ruins to the west of Nashkel. Not one of the adventurers knew who this stronghold once belonged to or how it came to the gnoll paws, but despite its crumbling walls and vegetation overgrowing it at places, its position made any direct assault a suicide and sneaking in rather difficult, as a suspension bridge was the only way in. An invisibility potion would've come in handy if they had the money or time to get some. Jaheira's reluctant aerial reconnaissance showed that they definitely didn't have the latter. The druid found Dynaheir, or at least a woman matching the description, in the slave pits inside the stronghold among several other humans, all equally dirty and emaciated.<p>

"Wish we had a tame dragon," Imoen sighed as the group sat down to discuss their options. "Imagine us swooping down on a dragon to save the day!"

"A dragon," Jaheira shook her head in disbelief.

"Well, at least a wyvern," the girl conceded. "Like those Zhentarim Skymages."

The older woman frowned – or at least her usual frown became deeper, - but before she could start what was probably another reprimand, Estel cut in. "Forget about wyverns, what about the kryshantel? Can we try to sneak in posing as them?"

"The what?" Imoen asked, indignant at the dismissal of wyverns.

"The savage souls. Those slaves who suffered so much at the hands of their gnoll captors that the only refuge their minds could find was in embracing the savageness of their masters," the elf elaborated, her voice once again calm and distant, as if she were reading from a book in her mind and not speaking from experience. "They become gnolls in all but appearance, go into battle alongside their masters, infiltrate villages, help gnolls break their other slaves…"

"How do you even know all that stuff?" Imoen shivered.

"It won't work," Jaheira shook her head again. "The gnolls are not very intelligent, but they'll smell us out immediately."

"So w-we'll need to smell like them," Khalid said thoughtfully. "A hunting party, p- perhaps."

"Are you actually considering this?" his wife asked him with suspicion.

"Seems to be our only option, d-dear," the warrior shrugged.

"You three," the druid pointed a finger at the others. "Stay put."

The couple disappeared into the forest with practiced coordination, leaving Imoen, Estel and Minsc – and Boo, of course, - to stare after them. With a sigh, Estel turned back to look at the stronghold. It was a fortress once, overseeing these lands, but whatever guardians once inhabited it were long gone. The fortress's current state of neglect reflected the bitter irony of its new role as a stronghold for man-eating monsters. The crumbling walls still told of good, strong build – lacking elegance, perhaps, but perfect for their purpose. The location was chosen so well that even now it was a difficult target, easily accessed only by a winged enemy. And they were going into this deathtrap to save one woman. Now that the elf thought about it, it seemed excessively foolish.

"You look like you're about to say 'This is a baad idea, Imoen, Winthrop will catch us!'" her friend snuck up to her and grabbed Estel by the shoulders. "Cheer up, it's a brilliant idea. A bit smelly, but brilliant."

"You really think we're going to pull this off?" the elf asked.

"You think too much," the younger girl looked at the fortress, furrowing her brow in a moment of doubt. "This is what heroes do. They don't stand around all day and think 'Am I going to survive this? Am I crazy?', because this way nothing would ever get done. They just go and do these things because they know no one else will," Imoen smiled brilliantly at her friend. "Then there's money and glory, of course."

As it always happened, Estel found herself grinning back. "We are hopeless bookworms, do you know that?"

"Yeah," Imoen shrugged, still smiling. "But one day they're going to write books about us."

"And some poor kids would imagine themselves great heroes like us and run off on some reckless quest for glory," Estel intoned.

"Of course, that's the best part! The world needs heroes," Imoen turned back to look at Minsc who appeared to be talking reassuringly to Boo. "I mean, look at this guy, all alone in a strange land, the love of his life stolen from him by terrible monsters…"

"I'm pretty sure he's just her guardian," the elf answered with doubt, looking at the exchange between the man and his rodent.

* * *

><p>Jaheira and Khalid showed up after a while, dragging a gnoll carcass with them. None of them looked very happy about what apparently happened out there (least of all the gnoll carcass). After much protesting from Imoen the group made themselves look – and smell, - like kryshantel, or so they hoped. And what a smell that was…<p>

"Minsc doesn't like sneaking around," the large man complained as they made their way carefully across the unsteady bridge. "The evil must have its butt justly and thoroughly kicked!"

"I wouldn't really call it sneaking if you can be smelled a mile away," Imoen grumbled and sniffed at her hair. "Ugh! Whose idea was it again?"

"You said it was brilliant," Estel reminded her. The elf was fully concentrated on putting one foot before the other, as it seemed to make the perspective of actually entering the gnoll den rather distant.

"Great. You are a stinking genius," Imoen scoffed.

"Quiet," Jaheira hissed ahead of them. They were nearing the end of the bridge. Estel barely contained herself from staring wide-eyed at the two gnolls that guarded the gates. The only gnoll she's ever seen before that moment was dead and lying at her feet.

These two were giant, towering menacingly above the small elf. Their fur bristled at the group's approach, making the crude jewelry clink. Estel, in a hurry to lower her gaze as befits a slave in the presence of masters, found her eyes drawn to one of the monster's belt. What she at first thought to be mere decoration, at closer examination turned out to be a collection of dried ears of various shape. While she stared in horrified fascination, the guards sniffed at the newcomers with suspicion, but eventually stood aside to let them through. Still entranced, Estel started moving too late, and stumbled as one of the guards urged her in with a spear.

Once they were inside, no one paid much attention to them. Perhaps the gnolls didn't think someone would be stupid enough to come into their den in such small numbers, and it was sheer audacity of the plan that saved them. As Jaheira led the group to where she saw Dynaheir, Estel dared to look around. The gnolls were lounging about, perhaps waiting for the nighttime to hunt. A few empty-eyed humans, covered in drags that barely hid the signs of torture both old and new, were working on the wall. It was a bleak place, and it smelled of blood and despair. The smell has grown so strong she almost felt like she'd pass out from it once they neared the slave pit.

"Gods," Imoen whispered once they were down in the pit. There were no guards around it. There was no need for them: most captives were trapped inside their minds, creating a wall between themselves and constant torture, the rest were in no shape to go anywhere. And by the gods, did they smell. Dirt, wastes, festering wounds, blood… it made her eyes water. Or perhaps she was crying, streaks of clear water flowing freely, silently down her dirty cheeks. A woman, much cleaner and healthier than most, raised her eyes. They were as empty as the eyes of other slaves at first, but they soon widened in recognition. "Minsc!" she gasped, and the Rashemi rushed to her side.

"Dynaheir!" Minsc scooped up the woman and quickly looked her over for injuries. "I will kick the butts of these evil monsters so hard, they'll—"

"Quiet!" Jaheira hissed again. "Can you walk?"

The witch looked at her guardian for a moment, then at the strangers he brought with him. "Yes… Yes, I believe I can," she answered, a bit bewildered.

"How are we going to get the rest of them out?" Imoen cut in, looking at the other slaves. Most of them didn't even move to look at them.

"We're not," Jaheira said with strange harshness.

"We can't just leave them here," Estel supported her friend. Imoen smiled briefly at her.

"No, we can't," the druid said and pulled her dagger out of its sheath. A cold feeling of dread turned in Estel's stomach as she saw the bleak look in Jaheira's eyes. Without another word the older woman got to her grim work.


	6. Poison in the Dark

Estel shivered as a drop of water trickled down the back of her neck. It's been a few days since their adventure at the gnoll stronghold, but she still couldn't get rid of the smell. It seemed her clothes, her hair, her skin still carried that sickening metallic scent of despair, no matter how often she washed it. She smelled of death. Estel didn't even need to close her eyes to see Jaheira methodically sink her dagger into unresisting slaves. Not one of them flinched away as she approached. Their eyes, either completely empty and indifferent or begging for swift death, haunted her dreams. And yet… At times the smell seemed almost sweet, and she could not help but watch in sickening fascination the moment life dimmed in their eyes, captured in perfect detail by elven memory.

"You s-seem troubled, ch-child," Khalid said quietly and Estel jumped, suddenly reminded of the present. The warrior looked at her sympathetically.

"It's nothing," the elf shook her head and her eyes involuntarily traveled to the sleeping form of the druid. Estel used to read about princesses who looked peaceful and innocent when they slept. Jaheira looked annoyed at the world.

Khalid noticed the direction of her gaze. "P-please understand that what she d-did was m-mercy," he said softly. "It m-may seem cruel, b-but it was necessary."

"Was it?" the young elf snapped, but then rubbed her face tiredly. "I'm sorry. I know. I just…"

"I understand," the warrior assured her. In truth, he has grown quite fond of the girls. They were good children – kind, intelligent, if naïve as children should be. Their wide-eyed innocence was a sight for sore eyes, even if Khalid knew, as did his wife, that this innocence would be short-lived. He wanted to treasure it, to spare them the pain and fear he endured in his life, but he knew that he would only do them harm by coddling them. From this perspective, perhaps, their detour to the gnoll stronghold was quite fortunate.

He knew this kind of decisions weighted heavily on Jaheira. She was his wife, after all, and he could see the signs clearly in the stubborn set of her jaw, in the bitterness of her tightly-pressed lips, in her pointedly, forcefully straight back. She was a strong one, and she took this weight without complaints or hope that someone else would relieve her of it, simply because she knew it must be done. The girls could learn so much from her. Both Estel, frozen in place, wide cerulean eyes staring in horror at the older woman, and Imoen, the impulsive one, rushing forward to stop her.

"I just keep thinking we could've done more," the elf finished with a sigh. It was always difficult for young ones to accept death. While experienced men like Khalid had come to terms with the ever-present danger in their lives and only wished that at some point they would be able to choose the manner of their own death, make it meaningful, for the young the fact of death itself seemed a terrible injustice.

"We n-never would've gotten them all out of there," he insisted softly, keeping eye on the shadows beyond the camp. It would not do to get ambushed while discussing how they got away from the gnolls.

And that was almost a miracle in itself. While the gnolls didn't pay much attention to them when they first entered the stronghold, they apparently took offence at them killing the slaves. Luckily, it was discovered when they were already close to the gate, but the gnolls were relentless in their pursuit. The chances of successful escape were further reduced by the fact that Minsc was supporting the exhausted witch, leaving only two experienced warriors to defend them as they ran through the forest. As for Estel and Imoen…

"I could t-teach you to handle a s-sword," Khalid proposed.

"Handling a sword is not a problem," the elf shook her head ruefully. She vividly remembered days – years, - spent in training, studying, preparing. But nothing could prepare her for the reality. For the chaos of a real battle, for the vicious fire in the eyes of a real opponent who was going to not only kill you, but in all probability eat you afterwards – and you were very lucky indeed if they performed it in that particular order. Everything happened too fast, but to that she could adapt after a while, remember to dodge and parry in time. The most difficult thing was to strike back. She was used to sparring matches where you needed to control your sword, stop it before it hurt someone. Slapping the opponent's arm with the blunt of your sword was enough to simulate strike. In reality, the trick was to kill the other guy before he killed you. And harming another was something she just couldn't bring herself to do, even angry as she was about the slaves. It was as if some internal barrier stopped her sword arm every time it came close to drawing blood. The young elf could not shake the fear that, if she did take life, she would become someone else. Someone she really wouldn't like.

Khalid put a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly. The internal struggle was painfully evident in Estel's features, and the warrior found himself desperately wanting to protect this child from the harsh reality of life. There was precious little innocence to be found in this world consumed by wars. But Jaheira was right, the only way to protect her, truly protect her, was to expose her to that reality, let her grow her own thick protective hide under its blows. Then at least she would survive, even if her innocence did not. The way Gorion coddled his adopted daughter all her life always angered Jaheira greatly, she simply could not see a reason to cripple someone so severely by denying them the real-life experience as they grew up. But Estel was Gorion's daughter, not hers, and the druid kept silent out of respect for her friend.

Still, Khalid wished he could spare these children the pain he's been through, the pain he knew was to come.

* * *

><p>From afar Nashkel mines looked like a gaping wound on the land. It did not look much better up close. The place was bleak, dirty and smelled of fear. Guards were posted at the entrance. As the party walked past a few dusty-brown workers making modest dinner over the fire, the elf overheard talk of demons invading the mines. Surely that was not the case? Jaheira was quite certain Zhentarim were involved in the current iron crisis and intended to find some sort of proof in the mines. Could Zhentarim summon demons to frighten the workers, preventing them from going into the mines and thus reducing the amount of extracted iron ore? Or have the miners dug too deep, unearthing some kind of ancient evil? Estel could believe that. Not that she wanted to believe that, demons were hardly an improvement over gnolls, and they did not have Minsc with them anymore.<p>

"Drunken rumors them are," the chief harrumphed in answer to Jaheira's question. "Some fool imagines he saw something moving in the dark when it's just them torchlights playing tricks on you, and now the lazy lot refuses to go in deep! I got your curse right here!" he picked up what Estel could only assume was a lump of iron ore since she'd never seen one in her life, and crushed it in his fist. Rusty-red dust fizzled to the ground in silence. "All of it, gone bad. What's a man to do?"

"Are you saying all of the ore is like this?" Jaheira prodded the resulting heap with her foot.

"That's what I said," the chief crossed his arms. "Can you cure it? Didn't think so. We don't need your kind poking around. Causes unrest it does."

"We were sent by the mayor," the druid insisted. Estel had to admire how the small half-elf could stare down a much larger man.

"Alright, fine, but you get lost like that elf – don't expect me to come dig you out," the chief motioned for the guards to let them in.

"What elf?" Jaheira asked, but the man was already shouting at some workers. The druid shook her head and nodded for the others to follow her inside.

It wasn't as dark and ominous as Estel imagined, although going underground went against something really deep and basic inside her elven being. The light of torches reflected off the walls, chasing deep shadows far into the cracks and corners, and the air was filled with sounds, echoes bouncing far along the pathways – the dripping of water, tapping of pickaxes, muffled voices… Up near the entrance the mines were all worked out, but as they descended lower, they began to pick out curious metallic glittering in the walls. The few workers who still risked going down here had little interest in the passing adventurers and much more – in those glittering streaks.

"D-do you think that elf he mentioned had something to d-do with the ore going bad?" Khalid asked quietly when Jaheira stopped to check out a small cart filled with ore. The worker who just deposited another portion of it into the cart eyed the half-elf suspiciously.

"A shadow druid?" Jaheira said thoughtfully and sniffed her fingers. "No, it's not their way. They would've rather killed all the miners, not poisoned the land somehow."

"P-poison?" Khalid repeated, ignoring the look on the miner's face when Jaheira mentioned killing the miners. His wife showed him her fingers, dirty with crushed ore. Estel strained her neck but did not see anything unusual. Still, druids were supposed to sense poisons, weren't they? Especially the ones used against nature like this, probably.

"Whoever did this has to be somewhere nearby," Jaheira mused, continuing down the mine. "The poison needs to be applied constantly and stealthily."

"S-someone on the inside could d-do it, if he was paid off b-by Zhents," the warrior suggested. Behind them, bored with the mineralogist adventure, Estel and Imoen were having a contest at making shapes on the wall.

"One of the workers?" Jaheira rubbed her chin. The miner edged away non-conspicuously. "They'd need a place to keep that much poison, not to mention means of transporting it into the mine."

"The chief m-mentioned that the workers were afraid t-to go deep into the mines. S-someone could arrange that to keep them from d-discovering the stash of poison," Khalid suggested.

Continuing their descent into the mines, the party soon found themselves alone in the dark. No workers dared to go this deep into the 'cursed' mines, so there was no sense to waste torches.

"I don't see a thing!" Imoen exclaimed.

"You are blinded by the torches, give it a few minutes," Jaheira suggested without looking back at the girl.

"Uh… human here," Imoen reminded her sulkily. The druid rolled her eyes and produced something from her bag that appeared to be some sort of glowing fungus and handed it to the girl.

"Keep behind us," Jaheira ordered. "We need our nightvision here."

"Excuse me for being so imperfect," Imoen stuck her tongue out, but the druid already had her back to her. Estel put her hand on her friend's shoulder, perfectly understanding her annoyance. The deeper they went into the mines, the more all that stone above seemed to weigh down on them, threatening to collapse and bury them at any moment.

"You at the front, Estel," the druid commanded briskly, clearly having none of that nonsense.

They continued this way for a while, going further and further into the dark abandoned tunnels. Estel would be the first to admit that her leading them didn't help much with their chances.

A vague shape in the darkness separated from the wall and hurried away from them. The shape was cold and thus nearly indiscernible to elven nightvision – a trait that made Estel's mind go to all sorts of horrible places.

"Did you see that?" Estel whispered, stopping abruptly. Behind her, Imoen walked into Khalid's back, causing him to stumble into Jaheira.

"No, but I heard it," the druid cast an annoyed glance behind her. "Follow it."

"What if it's a demon and it's going to where there are a lot of demons?" the elf whispered back.

"Don't be silly," Jaheira nudged her. "Let's go."

It wasn't long until they came across more of those creatures. This time several shapes slithered quietly from the side-tunnels, surrounding them. The party stood back to back, waiting. Suddenly, the silence was broken by clearly demonic (to Estel, anyway) deafening yipping and the shapes lunged at them. The next moments were pure chaos full of shoving, dodging and stumbling. As epic battles with ancient demons in the dark went, this one wasn't going to go down in history – not the way it was, anyway.

"Imoen! Imoen, it's me!" Jaheira grabbed the girl by the hilt of her sword.

"Huh? Well, I told you, I don't see a thing!" the girl quickly recovered and tried to look around. Everything appeared to have quieted down. "Did we get them all?"

"Yes," Jaheira picked up the fungus Imoen dropped during the fight and kneeled by one of the creatures. In the blue fluorescent light the features of a small lizard slowly came into focus the same way a towering monster in the forest becomes a crooked old tree when you look at it at the right angle. "Here are your demons."

"Kobolds?" Estel kneeled by her, a little embarrassed.

"And carrying this," the druid took a small bottle from the lizard's belt and, uncorking it, sniffed at the contents. "Yes, this is it." She threw the bottle to Khalid who swiftly put it into his pack.

"S-someone is using them t-to d-distribute the p-p-poison," he observed.

"Yes. Now let's find out who."


	7. Moonblade Wielder

A/N: first, as promised, my drawing of Estel during her childhood in Candlekeep. More are coming. FF has this weird way of handling links, so just close the spaces.

malenloth. deviantart art /Innocence-295645962

* * *

><p>Xan was dying. The news wasn't at all surprising, he'd expected that particular turn of events for quite some time now. Every moment of every day for the last decade, in fact. He was so used to expecting death that by now it had turned into some dull, strange kind of courage. After all, if you were already doomed, what have you got to lose?<p>

Not that he wanted to die. True to his luck, his death wouldn't bring brief discomfort followed by an eternity of happiness in Arvaneith that expected other elves, but instead thousands of years of bleak imprisonment in a _sword_. He supposed being reunited with the spirits of his likewise trapped heroic ancestors should've counted as some sort of consolation, but Xan did not cherish the thought of spending thousands of years in the company of ancient heroes berating him for the great things a moonblade wielder was _expected_ to do and Xan never did.

Oh it was a great honor, to be chosen by a moonblade instead of being killed by it outright, and such special people were hailed as heroes, protectors of Elvendom etcetera etcetera. What good was a sword to a mage, anyway? Yet it has chosen him, a frail acolyte, and suddenly he was honored, hailed, heroic and other such words and promptly thrown out of Evereska on one fittingly heroic quest or another. Heroic and hopeless. That was a recipe for an elven hero right there.

Xan's spirit earned to remain in his peaceful Evereska, learning ancient secrets of magic among his own kind. But now his spirit was forever linked to the moonblade. And that brought him back to his current predicament. As in dying. A moonblade wielder's life energy was connected to his sword and the two could never be separated. But they were now.

The ancestors, when he went to them, would probably not be pleased that one of the ancient moonblades forged to protect Elvendom ended up at the bottom of a gods-forsaken mine for who knows how long, but at least the sword would not let anyone wield it unless someone worthy of it happened to wander into this particular mine, so it probably had no retail value. That at least was some comfort.

The elf's long slender fingers flexed, hoping against hope to close on the familiar handle that wasn't there anymore. That was exactly how he imagined his death, in some dark hole, unknown to anyone and utterly meaningless. People set out on adventures confident that, if they were fated to die, it would be a powerful, meaningful death that would change the face of Faerûn. But mostly, of course, confident that they would not die at all. Xan had no such delusions.

He could do with a few delusions right now, like a prospect of miraculous rescue by a band of adventurers that just happened to wander by. He could, of course, brighten his last hours by seeing Evereska in reverie, but, frankly, what was the point if he was going to die and never see it again anyway?

And so Xan lay in the cold and the dark, detachedly contemplating his own sad and imminent demise. Somewhere water dripped unhurriedly, knowing it had all the time in the world to undercut the stubborn stone. But to the elf whose life force steadily dripped away it was counting down remaining moments.

* * *

><p>"It could be a dragon," Imoen mused, becoming increasingly bored as the fear of being buried under tons of stone lost its novelty. "Just saying. Kobolds are known to serve dragons."<p>

"What is it with you and dragons?" Jaheira sighed. Her original strategy was not to dignify the girl's wild imaginings with a response, but Imoen was absolutely unrelenting.

"Wouldn't it be great if we killed a dragon? Then we'd become dragon-slayers, and the grateful townsfolk for throw a feast in our honor and—"

"We'd be dragon feast, more likely," the older woman cut in with obvious annoyance.

"You mean you never killed a dragon?" Imoen asked, completely crestfallen.

"D-dragons are d-d-dangerous and c-cunning," Khalid answered patiently.

"Well, that's the point!" Imoen flung her arms in the air. She felt like she was trying to explain something extremely obvious to very small children.

Estel stopped. Walking in the dark mines was rather like sneaking in the library at night, except the danger was not in encountering an angry monk. In fact, the evident absence of angry monks made it much easier. But now they were nearing the end, and she did not cherish the thought of facing whatever was around the corner, dragon or not.

"What do you see?" Jaheira whispered by her shoulder.

"Heat," the elf whispered back. "Not like those kobolds."

There was something else she did not mention. A nagging feeling Estel could not quite place, it was as if something in there called to her.

They advanced carefully. There was no way to sneak around and ambush whoever was inside – just a narrow tunnel that led into the cave. The source of heat became apparent as soon as they entered – torches on the walls eliminated the cave, inevitably briefly blinding them after all the time spent wandering in darkness.

"So, Tazok finally sends someone to replace me," the denizen of the cave appraised them critically.

"The miners are getting suspicious," Estel tried to think quickly to buy them time to adjust to the light.

"Yeah, they know someone is down here," Imoen joined in on the bluff.

"Well that is to be expected when all the ore suddenly goes bad!" The ugliest face Estel had ever seen slowly came into focus through the violet splotches that plagued her vision. Sickly greenish skin glistened in the torchlight, two huge tusks stuck out of his mouth, giving away his orcish blood. Strangely, his appearance put Estel at ease. After all, weren't all half-orcs stupid? Although this one was disturbingly well-spoken and wore dark-purple robes.

"I'm sure you just did your job, right?" Imoen raised her hands calmingly. "And really smart using those kobolds to spread the poison."

Behind them Jaheira tapped Khalid lightly on the arm and nodded to one of the dark corners. Shadows were deep there, deep enough to hide in. Her eyes, hindered by bright torchlight, could just make out motionless humanoid shapes. The mayor said miners were disappearing…

"Of course it's smart, did you think you'd just come here, kill a stupid blundering half-orc and get your money?" the half-orc snorted derisively. Imoen's words must have struck a nerve.

"Of course not, Tazok told us how cunning you are," Estel blinked rapidly.

"And did you think I'd just let you kill me after all my hard work once I became no longer needed? Ha!" the half-orc made a gesture with his hand, and the shapes Jaheira was watching stepped out of the shadow. Orange light danced on polished bones. Empty sockets watched the adventurers impassively. "That's right, I'm quite prepared for you. My little helpers have been watching you for quite some time now."

"Skeletons!" Jaheira got a better grip on her staff.

"Has a knack for the obvious, does she?" the half-orc smirked. "Kill them!"

The crowded cave wasn't the most convenient of battlefields. Reanimated skeletons kept them from reaching the half-orc, and that made him very dangerous. Still, Estel found it easy to bash skeletons left and right. Skeletons did not bleed, did not feel pain. They were abominations, and she felt no remorse for destroying them. Not that destroying them without some kind of paladin on your side was easy – cut off an arm, and you just end up with something trying to grab your ankles.

Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion washed over her. Estel shook her head, struggling to regain her balance, and saw Jaheira's frozen form in front of her. The druid's body was rigid, fighting to break free of the spell. Immediately, Khalid was at her side, protecting his defenseless wife from the blows that skeletons showered on her. The cleric laughed from safety.

"We've got to get to that orc before he does another trick like that!" Imoen hissed next to Estel.

"He's not—" the elf started to correct her friend automatically, but cut herself off.

"Like old times," Imoen winked and suddenly there was no one near Estel. The elven girl swore under her breath using words she learned from one of the guards back in Candlekeep and blocked a blow from the skeleton that was fighting Imoen just a moment ago. She risked a quick glance aside – Jaheira was still under the effect of some kind of holding spell and Khalid wasn't about to leave her unprotected to concentrate on killing the bad guy – that was probably going to earn him some serious telling off, given they survived this mess. The old times… Yes, she remembered 'the old times'. She never really approved any of them, or at least pretended not to, if only for the sake of not feeling so bad when Gorion inevitably reprimanded her in that disappointed voice…

The elf dived behind Jaheira, and the skeleton attacking her immediately switched to another closest living being. She kicked away the skull that tried to bite her foot, ducked under the swinging bony arm at the same time and, grabbing the spine, shoved the skeleton behind her and used the resistance to propel herself forward. Without turning her head she knew that the skeleton she just passed would be too busy crumbling under the suddenly reappeared Imoen to pay her any further attention.

With most of the skeletons industriously flailing away at Khalid now and Imoen protecting her rear, Estel only had to quickly cross the open space between her and the cleric. Then she would hit him on the head hard enough to knock him out, and Jaheira would have someone to vent out her frustrations on when she came to. The only catch was that the half-orc probably had another spell ready by the time she evaded his undead.

And that he did. Deep concentrated chanting barely audible behind the clattering of swords crescendoed triumphantly and another unnatural wave of tiredness reached Estel. The young elf slowed, stumbling on the flat floor, but did not stop. It surprised her that she was able to retain some control of her limbs at all. It certainly surprised the cleric as he made no attempt to defend himself when she half-fell half-plunged into him with sword in hand instead of being frozen in place.

Suddenly all the remaining skeletons crumbled to the ground and Jaheira nearly struck at Khalid once free of the holding spell. Imoen rushed to her friend and dragged unresisting Estel off the half-orc. Their enemy remained motionless, surprised expression forever frozen on his deformed face. A sword remained stuck in his chest.

"Estie! Estie, come on!" Imoen kept repeating with rising panic in her voice as she caught sight of the dark stain of blood covering the elf's armor.

"She's alive," Jaheira said dispassionately, coming closer. The druid frowned as she checked the half-orc. "He, however, is not. We needed to interrogate him further."

Estel sat up abruptly and looked at the cleric with wild eyes. "He's dead?!" she breathed out. "I didn't mean to…"

"Hey, you saved the day!" Imoen clapped her on the shoulder. "Auntie Jaheira is just grouchy that she had to be saved."

"I didn't mean to…" Estel repeated and wiped her forehead with her hand, realizing too late that her glove was soaked in blood.

"Search the cave," the druid ordered. "We will have time for stupor once we're back on the surface."

Imoen stuck her tongue out at the older woman and turned back to Estel. "Can you stand?"

"I'm fine, Imo, let's try to find some explanation to what was happening here," the elf said, trying to still her shaking hands. She tentatively rose to her feet and looked around. Details she didn't notice before came into view. The cave further in was decorated like a throne room, as if the half-orc proclaimed himself the ruler of this hole. Next to the makeshift throne was an altar. Estel came closer, her eyes drawn to the tapestry that hang on the wall above it. The white skull stared back at her, surrounded by dark-violet corona. She couldn't help feeling unexplainable hostility somewhere deep inside. Then again, was it so unexplainable? The symbol belonged to Cyric, the mad god of many abominable things sentient being liked to do to each other. Deception, lies… murder. Did she serve him today?

On instinct, out of sheer disgust, the elf tore the tapestry off the wall and was surprised to see a niche on the wall behind it. It contained one small locked box, the kind people often used to keep their private correspondence in.

"Good job," Jaheira said behind her. "It can be trapped, don't touch it."

"Hey, look what I found!" Imoen called out from the other side of the room. "There's a spell book, some pouches and a really nice-looking sword. Dibs on the book, though!"

With one last glance at Jaheira carefully handling the box, Estel wandered over to her friend, intrigued by her find.

"That sword must be really expensive," Imoen marveled at the sheathed weapon. Intricate elven carvings covered the handle and a single large stone shimmered faintly in torchlight. The girl took a grip on the handle.

"Don't!" Estel was immediately on her, covering Imoen's hand with her own to prevent her from drawing the sword. "You can't draw a moonblade out!"

"A moonblade? Those elven swords you kept going on about when we were kids?" unperturbed, Imoen took a closer look at the stone.

"Yes, and if it's here, then its owner is either dying or dead," Estel nodded, generously ignoring her friend's habit to refer to the last fifteen years as 'their' childhood.

"W-we did see an elven m-mage armed with a s-sword in Nashkel," Khalid remembered.

* * *

><p>Xan was dying. Hallucinations were a sure indicator that his time was running out. At least he thought he's got a hang of those delusions everyone seemed so fond of. For example, some time ago he'd imagined the sounds of battle coming from the lair of his captor. But everything was quiet now, so apparently he didn't even have the strength to produce another delusion.<p>

He was proven wrong when suddenly his hand felt the familiar shape of his sword handle. A warm hand squeezed his frozen one, making him grip the handle. As far as delusions went, he had to admit this one was very convincing, as warmth simmered up his arm. The elf opened his blurry eyes with an effort and saw, outlined by shimmering silvery moonlight, Sehanine Moonbow, looking down at him with concern. Her voice, the most melodic sound his ears had ever heard, spoke encouraging words to him.

Xan wondered briefly how come the elven Goddess of Moonlight spoke such horrid elvish.


	8. Big Heroes in a Small Town

In the treacherous moonlight nothing was the way it seemed, and she stumbled over the twisted roots, struggling to keep her balance but failing when her legs got caught in the long skirt of her own dress. Her cry was cut short by a splashing sound as she fell, bruising her ribs on the roots and soiling the dress. Breathing heavily, after some struggling with the slippery ground, Estel managed to get back to her feet. She couldn't stop, the assassins were after her. But still, once she looked down, she couldn't stifle a sound of despair – her dress, that beautiful azure dress father gave her, was completely ruined.

Somewhere off in the distance hyenas whined. The elf cursed under her breath: they were trying to sniff her out, and she still smelled like that day they sneaked into the gnolls' den. That stench was probably strong enough for them to smell her out from the other end of the forest. She had to keep running.

Low chanting suddenly untangled itself from the myriad of sounds of the night forest, and blinding globe of light burst in front of her. Estel slipped again, trying to stop before she fell into the light, and saw it beginning to ripple like fire. Next moment, it was a floating white-hot skull surrounded by black flame.

Scrambling franticly, Estel got back to her feet and started running in the opposite direction, but that way was cut off as well, the murderer of her father and his assassins finally catching up to her. The flaming yellow eyes on the monster's grinning skull of a face reflected off the giant sword he raised above his head.

The girl ducked under the swoop that would've taken her head clean off, just in time to notice chattering skulls trying to bite at her ankles. Kicking them away, she ran off into the trees, no longer paying attention to the branches slapping at her face. Not seeing where she was going anymore, Estel suddenly bumped into a dark figure. As she regained her bearings, the elf became aware that her hands were gripping the handle of a sword plunged deep into the stranger's chest. She didn't remember carrying a sword. Blood poured from the wound, black and glistening in moonlight, and her hands were all covered in it. She could feel the stranger's heart beating slowly, the black stain on his dark-violet robes widening with each beat. Paralyzed with sheer horror, she barely managed to make herself look up.

Gorion stared down at her, motionless. Accusing.

* * *

><p>Pure terror ripped her out of the dream and left her shaking violently, struggling for air. She felt like she was drowning, buried under tons and tons of dark water, unable to utter a sound. She just lay for a while, still shaking from the cold air on her feverish skin, her eyes staring unseeingly into the ceiling.<p>

Slowly, reality began to seep back into the black void that surrounded her. Birds chirped merrily outside. Morning sun shone through the open window. For a moment she could believe that she was back in Candlekeep and everything that's happened in the last days was only a nightmare, but that illusion didn't last: the room was completely wrong.

Nashkel. Estel sat up and wiped the sweat off her face, trying to wipe the remains of the nightmare with it. They returned to Nashkel after… solving the mystery in the mines.

Imoen burst into the room like a freak pink hurricane. "Wake up, sleepyhead!" she sang. "It's time to receive our just reward! What?" she sombered immediately once she noticed Estel's expression. The elf shook her head. "Come on, Estie, talk to me," Imoen sat down on the bed.

"Do you miss him?" Estel asked quietly.

"Who… oh. Of course I miss him! But, look, there was nothing you could do. I saw the whole thing, right?"

"He died because of me. In a way, I killed him," the elf said stubbornly. A picture of Gorion staring down at her, her bloodied sword in his chest, flashed before her eyes again.

"Don't talk like that!" Imoen slapped her arm lightly, trying to hide distress Estel's words caused her. "You don't even know what that guy wanted!"

"Yeah…" Estel muttered. "Certainly killed that Mulahey, though…"

"That you did," Imoen confirmed smugly. "You'd never manage it without me covering your back, of course, but good job anyway. Did you see the look on his face?"

"That's… good?" the elf looked at her friend with disbelief.

"Of course, silly! That's what heroes do. They kill the bad guys."

"And that makes us… good guys?"

"You didn't hit your head, did you?" Imoen looked at her with half-feigned concern. "Of course we're the good guys. We're the heroes! Look out the window, they're all ready for us!"

Estel didn't need to look. She could hear the busy sounds of a feast being set up. Nashkel folk were grateful for… yes, for solving the mystery of the poisoned ore. It helped to think of it this way.

"You know what else is great? Just days ago we were celebrating your birthday wearing dresses and stuff, and now…"

"…we don't have dresses?" Estel cut in, the shadow of the nightmare still hanging over her.

"Exactly!" Imoen whirled energetically, showing off the new armor Jaheira got her. The armor sadly lacked in pink department, but that was exactly the reason the druid forked out, and after everyone agreeing that this kind of grubby brownish leathers would make Imoen look like a seasoned adventurer, the girl finally accepted. "We're real adventurers now! We saved a town! So get dressed and get down there to your admirers!"

With that, the pink whirlwind that was Imoen disappeared down the stairs, leaving slightly bewildered Estel to catch up with events. That was the normal reaction of someone who's been around Imoen for any length of time.

* * *

><p>The celebration was not a big one – the iron crisis hit the miners' settlement hard. But the merriment was sincere and the Nashkel folk greeted Estel with smiles and grateful words as she passed. Where before was suspicion and fear for the uncertain future now was hope and gratitude. Small children looked at the elf with wide eyes: to them she was larger than life – there was Imoen's hand in that, or maybe they were just excited about seeing a real elf. Even if compared to the heroes of legends their feat was a small one, to the people of Nashkel it was something worthy of songs. Without the mine the little town could barely exist.<p>

Those smiles along with sunlight washed away the remains of the nightmare that followed her all the way from that fateful night in the forest. She saved these people with her sword, that had to be the good thing, the right thing. The consequences certainly seemed right. And so Estel remembered how hungry she was.

When she was sated enough to look up from her plate, her eyes were drawn to a splash of purple among the people watching the dancers. Alone in the crowd, the elven mage just stood there, nursing his drink.

"_I hail you, defender of Elvendom_," Estel bowed slightly with a smile, quite proud of herself for actually remembering her Elvish lessons. Gorion was adamant about her learning the language of her people, but, frankly, there were few elven books in the Library, and even fewer elves.

Xan winced painfully. "Please. Don't," he answered in Common.

"You don't like people to bring up your noble lineage?" slightly confused, the girl switched to Common as well.

"That too," the mage rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Your Elvish is horrible."

"Is not!" Estel burst out indignantly. "I'll have you know I passed every grammar test with perfect scores! Eventually, anyway. And my vocabulary is-"

"There's more to our language than dry grammar and the number of words you know," Xan looked at her almost mournfully. "The meaning of every word, every sentence depends on the surrounding words, intonation, the speaker herself, her surroundings, even the time of year… There are a thousand nuances which can change the meaning completely. How can you not know that?"

"Maybe because I grew up among humans and never had any pressing need to learn Elvish?" Estel grumbled, crossing her arms.

"Yes. Your chatty friend told me as much," the mage replied bitterly and turned his gaze back to the merry crowd.

"So what, are you some kind of elven purity zealot?"

"No."

"But you think you're better than me because I was raised by a human," Estel stuck out her chin defiantly. Anyone so much as hinting that her father was in any way inferior was going to get his right into his perfect elven face.

"No! I didn't mean…" the mage sighed with exasperation. When he turned back to Estel, there was such a pained look on his face that it somehow made her want to punch him even more. "It is simply a sad example of how our people slowly diminish and accept human way of life, human gods… We are a doomed people."

"Being friends with other races doesn't make us less, it makes us more," the quote popped up in her head obligingly. It was just as well that he probably never heard of that book. Estel took another look at the elf's downcast face. She wondered if all elves were as gloomy as him. Were they really a dying people? Of course, some ancient elven kingdoms now lay in ruins, but so did human ones. Humans just picked themselves up, dusted themselves off and got on with their lives, rebuilding somewhere else. But if being elven really meant sitting around whining about how great they used to be when Faerûn was young and there were less humans about… well, she'd pass on that. When she first met Xan (or, rather, when she first met the unconscious Xan), Estel was excited to the point of forgetting everything that's happened in that mine. He was an elf, like her. Things he could show her, teach her… But a wondrous child of the forest, once fully conscious, proved to be grumpy, gloomy and for that matter not all that thrilled with forests. "Are you coming with us?" she asked instead.

"What do you intend to do next?"

"There is a caravan leaving for Beregost tomorrow. We've signed on to guard them. Then we'll look for Mulahey's contact there and try to get to the top of it all. Or the bottom, whichever," Estel barely held a vengeful grin when the recently-saved elf winced at the mention of the bottom of anything.

"It was my task to investigate this iron crisis, so if you intend to pursue this, together we will have better chances of success," Xan sighed. "Still negligible, of course."

"Of course," Estel rolled her eyes.

"There you two are!" flushed and pink Imoen suddenly launched at them from the crowd of dancers. "Hey, you even look happy compared to Gloomy here!" she poked Estel.

"I'm not gloomy," it was Xan's turn to roll his eyes.

"Yes you are," the girls answered in unison.

"So are you guys going to show us some famous elven dancing?" Imoen whirled around the two elves, apparently demonstrating what she imagined graceful elven dancing to look like.

"I don't dance," the mage looked for an escape route.

"Of coooourse you don't," Imoen patted him on the shoulder.

"And I don't know any elven dancing which is what Xan and I were just discussing, in fact," Estel gave another elf a pointed look. Xan sighed. "So maybe we should show him how we did it back in Candlekeep, what do you think? Nothing as refined and hauntingly beautiful, I'm sure, but what can you expect?"

"I did not mean to offend," the mage said slowly and sincerely enough for Estel to dismiss the whole conversation with the wave of her hand.

"Fine, leave the guy to be boring for now, a week with us and he'll dance," Imoen grabbed a hold of her friend's arm.

"Or go mad," Xan raised an eyebrow.

"But _we_ are going to dance," the girl continued, ignoring his comment. "You can be the boy. Everyone here thinks you're one anyway."

* * *

><p>An: and with this brief interlude we are finally off to Beregost. I know what you are waiting for, and it is comming!


	9. A Hunter

The hunter moved through the forest like a silent shadow, barely disturbing even the air in his wake. Woodland creatures paid him no more mind than they would pay a tree, or a gust of wind. He belonged here, he was the lord of the forest. And he moved with a purpose.

* * *

><p>Traveling with a caravan proved to be much more comfortable than marching through the wilderness after tireless Jaheira. Caravans tended to stick to the roads, for one thing. The downside, of course, was being targeted by every bandit between Nashkel and Beregost as one of the few caravans daring the roads these dangerous days. The only way they could've made themselves more of a target was to paint 'Iron here' in huge letters on all the wagons, assuming the bandits could read. Still, the first day on the road was peaceful enough. The convoy of armed soldiers and (allegedly) seasoned adventurers made the smaller groups that prowled the forest think twice. Jaheira looked worried, however. But then again, Jaheira always looked worried, and she did not deem it necessary to share her concerns with Estel.<p>

They stopped for the night when the druid had found a clearing large enough and far enough from the place caravans on this path normally used. The wagons were placed around the camp to provide cover in case of an attack. It was a new experience for Estel to travel with so many people. Everyone seemed to know what to do, busying themselves with setting up the camp, tending to the horses, cooking or guarding. Jaheira and Khalid disappeared into the forest. Imoen was assaulting the guards with what looked like wildly exaggerated tale of their adventure in the mines. In this busy camp the elf felt like the odd one out, temporarily forgotten by all.

She wasn't the only one, however, although perhaps Xan wasn't feeling bad about it. "Are you reading those letters again?" the elf said, sitting down beside her.

"How stupid one has to be to keep the letter that says 'dispose of this letter' at the end?" Estel waved the offending piece of paper in her hand.

"Maybe he was afraid to forget the instructions?" the mage took the letter from her and skipped through it again. He sighed. "Or it could be any number of reasons. What worries me is the scale of this operation."

"They have enough money to hire two bands of mercenaries to block the flow of iron into this region from the outside and enough guile to stop the mines supplying it from the inside," Estel said thoughtfully, but then smirked. "And still they send a dim-witted half-orc and kobolds to do the job. So I wouldn't fear them too much."

Xan waved her away. "That is not the point. The question is what group is powerful enough to organize something like this and what group stands to gain."

"Well, we do have our lead," the girl shrugged. "We have the name and the place."

"Somehow I doubt any of us will make a passable half-orc," Xan raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sure Jaheira can make anyone talk if she just looks at them strictly enough. I know I always try to remember whether I did my homework whenever she looks at me," Estel shuddered theatrically and threw another look at the letter in Xan's hand. Their little boring trip to the mines was turning into something much bigger than she'd imagined. And who knows, the way things kept going, there might just be a couple of dragons thrown in before this ended. It excited Imoen to no end, but Estel missed the solemn halls of the great library. Still, she kept reminding herself that those halls meant nothing now that Gorion wasn't there anymore, and her father's murderer was still somewhere out here, his assassins only temporarily thrown off the trail. This iron crisis was good training for when she finally goes after all of them.

"Are you alright?" the mage frowned. Somewhere along the way her fake shudder turned into a real one.

"I'm fine. Still trying to figure out where I fit in all this," she gestured at the busy camp. "And adjusting to sleeping on hard ground. But fine. Librarians are a hardy bunch."

"You will get used to it," Xan assured her. "If you have enough time."

"Before my inevitable demise, you mean," Estel raised an eyebrow ironically.

"An elven girl raised by humans in a monastery, with no first-hand experience of the real world, on the run from mysterious assassins, meddling in what is turning out to be a region-scale conspiracy. Do you feel good about your chances?"

"Of course I do, now that you're here," the girl rolled her eyes. "When I think about how bad my situation is, I just need to look at you and rest in the knowledge that someone has it worse. Don't I?" she stood up and brushed herself off. "Lighten up. I'm going to find something productive to do." Like talking to Imoen about her compulsive need to tell every stranger their entire life story up to and including the large sum of money on her head that was apparently still out there for anyone to collect.

* * *

><p>They came in the night. First, arrows rained on the clearing. Then, as if they felt they needed to accentuate further that this was, in fact, a bandit attack, a variety of thugs jumped out of the bushes with wild hallooing. Their shouts had soon turned to screams, however, once they realized that the caravan guard were very much prepared for them owing in no small part to Jaheira.<p>

Estel, perched on a tree, watched the unfolding scene with unsuppressed curiosity. It seemed like pure chaos from up there, all this running around in the dark, shouting and fighting. In her mind she understood that down there was also blood and pain, but it was easier to forget about that when you weren't in the thick of the fight.

As one of the bandits separated from the fighting to try and make a run for the forest, she was reminded of the reason Jaheira put her there. No one was to escape and call for reinforcements. She drew the bow slowly, as if she was still on the Candlekeep's training grounds: deliberately shooting to wound required greater skill than just hitting the target and hoping for the best, and she was determined to wound only. But, before she could loose the arrow, the bandit fell backwards with another arrow in his eye. There wasn't much time to think about that, because two more were trying to sneak away from the camp. But, before Estel could even target one of them properly, they too dropped dead from the arrows of the mysterious archer.

It briefly crossed the elf's mind that Jaheira would probably kill her later for leaving her post, but she slung the bow on her shoulder and quickly got down from the tree to sneak around the place the deadly arrows were coming from. With all the noise from the fighting it wasn't going to be a difficult task.

The archer wasn't so easy to find. The eye simply skimmed over the mossy-green cloak, accepting it as part of the landscape. Creeping closer to him, Estel was struck by the thought that she didn't even know what to do with him once she caught him – if she would be able to catch him at all. After all, he seemed to shoot the bandits, helping the well-prepared but vastly outnumbered guards. Was she supposed to come up to him and say 'Hi, you're shooting my bad guys. This is inefficient. So let's split, I'll shoot the bad guys over there and you shoot the bad guys over here, so that we don't get in each other's way'?

That thought had soon become irrelevant, however. Once she was close enough, the archer spun around and somehow the next moment Estel was completely immobilized with a dagger at her throat. The shock in the archer's face suggested that he'd recognized that the one stalking him wasn't another bandit and barely stayed his blade.

The abrupt movement had swept the cape off his head, revealing the sharp lines of distinctively-elven face. Estel's brain, apparently in full expectation of being permanently and literally cut off from the rest of her, was working frantically to record every little detail of the scene in case it needed to flash it before her eyes in reverse later. In one moment of perfect clarity it absorbed the stranger's intense jet-black eyes wide with horror, the unfamiliar intricate patterns of warpaint on his face, the stubborn strand of black hair that fell on his bronze – just like hers, - forehead, the long ragged scar that ran down his neck and disappeared behind the hem of his shirt, and a small one just below his chipped lower lip…

"Uh… You're shooting my bad guys," Estel croaked the last thought that was on her mind before she had all thoughts knocked out of her. The archer's expression changed from shock to utter - although understandable, - confusion. The girl grinned helplessly, hoping he'd finally remove the dagger.

"You are with the caravan," the archer had finally found his words, although his hoarse voice sounded as if he'd almost forgotten how to use it.

"Yes. That's us. The good guys, right?" Estel winced as speaking brought her throat in contact with the cold steel. Seeing it, the archer unhanded her hurriedly and turned back to the camp. The guards were now rounding up the last of the bandits and did not seem to need any help. "So… I guess you were the one who took out their archers?" Estel took place next to him and looked out of the bushes.

"Yes," the archer answered and, when she was about to start pestering him for more, elaborated. "I am hunting bandits in this area. They knew a caravan was to pass through and that it was well-protected."

"So why didn't you come to us instead of risking to get shot in all this confusion?" Estel squinted at him. He did look like the kind of person you'd shoot on sight after just being attacked by bandits. And yet she wanted to trust him for some reason. Perhaps it was an elven thing.

"There was no time," confident that all the bandits had been dealt with, the archer turned to her once again. "I need to interrogate the survivors if there are any. These vipers come from a nest, I need to know where it is."

"We could look for it together," Estel offered. Jaheira was just going to love that. But the reasoning was sound, and this elf could just prove to be the one to tell her about elven ways. After all, Imoen took over pestering Xan, so it was only fair.

The archer looked at her with doubt. The inner struggle was obvious on his face – perhaps he regretted almost cutting her throat. "Why are you hunting them?" he finally asked, his black tilted eyes boring into her cerulean ones in search of some terrible truth. If there was one, Estel did not feel inclined to share it with a stranger.

"We are just adventurers helping out with this iron crisis," she shrugged. "And we have a lead in Beregost that might give us the location of, as you say, the nest."

"Very well," the archer said after some consideration. "Take me to the others."

And that was easier said than done. Everyone was more than a little jumpy after the attack, and Estel had more than a few arrows pointed at her before she finally got back to Jaheira and the others.

"Estel!" Imoen ran up to her and hugged her friend with obvious relief. "Told them you'd be alright!"

"Where have you been?" the druid demanded in that strict motherly voice that had always made Estel hide her unwashed hands behind her back. "You were to simply—"

"I had some unique circumstances," the elven girl pointed with her eyes at her new elven companion. Jaheira squinted suspiciously at the archer. "Everyone, this is…" she stopped, realizing that they'd never got around to introductions between her sneaking up to him and him nearly cutting her throat.

"Kivan. Of Shilmista," the archer inclined his head. "Estel invited me to investigate the bandits in this region with you."

"Did she?" the half-elf looked at her charge meaningfully. Estel tried giving her a disarming smile, but Imoen was so much better at that. Mainly because she was the one always getting in trouble and thus had more practice, but now Estel felt like she's dragged a stray cat home. "And what are your reasons for hunting these bandits?"

"Revenge, I'd imagine," Xan stepped forward. He was looking at Kivan with a mixture of suspicion, pity and general resignation that only Xan could master.

"You speak correctly, kinsman," the archer nodded solemnly, making Estel cringe inwardly. It was official: all elves were gloomy and tragic. Kivan turned back to Jaheira. "I have dedicated years to finding their leader, Tazok. If we join our forces, perhaps this time he will not slip away."

Jaheira looked at her husband who gave her a silent nod. Finally, she looked back at the newcomer. "Very well." Written across her face was a clear 'I'm watching you'.


	10. Destroy After Reading

Beregost, placed conveniently just off the road halfway between Baldur's Gate and Amn, owed its prosperity in no small part to the various travelers wishing to stop for the night in its many inns, the number of which seemed rather disproportionately large for such a small town. That impression was further intensified by the fact that these inns now stood mostly empty, as few dared to travel this road in these dangerous days. The caravan from Nashkel was the first one to get through in a while, and thus was getting much more attention than Jaheira would've wanted. The tale of their heroic adventure in the mines was on everyone's lips soon after, once the guards accompanying the caravan had dispersed into the taverns.

"We must move quickly, before Tazok's contact attempts to escape," Kivan said, earning a grim nod from Jaheira. That was the longest sentence the elf had said since joining them and exchanging information about bandits.

Estel pulled the letter out again. Feldepost's inn, one of the shabbier establishments in Beregost, stood almost on the outskirts of the town. Knowing that it was a secret meeting place of the conspirators painted the inn in sinister colors in the girl's imagination. The inside of the building was sure to be full of shady characters, drinking and speaking loudly, and one of them was bound to have a ferret sitting on his shoulder. Estel wasn't sure where did the cute furry animal fit into the picture of evil and depraved criminals, but there you had it. The elf looked up into the dark windows of the second storey, wondering if the man they were looking for was looking out his window at them this very moment.

"Oh come on!" Imoen dragged behind Xan, clutching at the elf's robe sleeve. "I already have a spellbook and everything!"

"Learning magic requires more than having a spellbook," the mage made a half-hearted attempt to extricate his sleeve from the girl's grasp, but gave up with a sigh. "You need patience and responsibility, things you evidently lack."

"I'm very responsible!" Imoen exclaimed indignantly. "I'll show you how responsible I am!"

"And now we're in trouble," Estel muttered, carefully hiding a smile, lest she incurred Imoen's pink wrath.

* * *

><p>Tranzig was indeed watching from the shadows of his room. The news of Mulahey's demise had already reached him, in fact, there were people downstairs right now, retelling the grand tale that grew with each tankard. Tranzig suspected that by the end of the day Mulahey would be revealed to have breathed fire and hoarded piles of gold and beautiful elven maidens. Well, the last one would at least have a grain of truth to it: Tranzig knew for a fact that Mulahey had an elf captive, the half-orc wrote as much in his last letter. Tranzig was given to believe that the elf was male, but you never knew with their kind.<p>

The group he was watching now had a whole of three elves to them: a young boy, a mage – probably the one saved from Mulahey, - and a ranger. The first two were deserving of barely a sneer: a child with a toy sword and a fool who let himself be captured by the half-wit Mulahey were certainly no threat to him. But the last one… That one got his attention. Of course, Tranzig knew of the lone avenger that's been dogging Tazok for some years now. He did not know what his grievances were with the bandit leader – the usual robbed-tortured-raped-and-murdered kind, most likely, - but the rumors of his attacks on their patrols were becoming increasingly annoying. And still, Tazok would only laugh, evidently enjoying the game of hide-and-seek.

The human girl he didn't know, but the two half-elves were reportedly Harper agents sent to investigate whether this iron shortage was the work of Zhentarim, the fools. Still, Harpers together with that troublesome revenge-monger… He needed to think quickly how he was going to resolve that situation. It was, of course, possible that they simply came to this town on their way north, as many others did, and chose this inn as the least expensive. But Tranzig was more inclined to believe that the idiot Mulahey did not quite grasp the concept of destroying the letters after reading.

The 'adventurers' were nearing the entrance of the inn. Tranzig cast one last look out the window and quickly set to work.

* * *

><p>"Here they are!" one of the caravan guards called out as soon as the group entered the inn. "Our saviors and no mistake!" A lot of cheering ensued, which made Jaheira cringe. She would've much preferred to go about their business undisturbed.<p>

"They have reason t-to be h-hopeful, d-dear," Khalid said softly, touching her elbow. "And the g-girls d-deserve some ap-p—" he gave up. "…fun." The girls were, indeed, basking in the rays of glory.

"If their heads get any bigger, we might as well camp outside, because they won't be able to fit through the door," the druid grumbled, but relaxed slightly. She walked over to the bar to ask the innkeeper about the man they were looking for.

"Hey, you! Yes, you! Elf!"

Kivan, Estel and Xan all turned simultaneously to look at the man sitting at one of the tables, clutching a nearly-finished tankard of ale in his hands angrily, as if attempting to strangle it to death. He wasn't young and looked like men Estel knew back in the village by the walls of Candlekeep: big, roughened by hard work, but decent. The man looked at her and his wrinkles deepened with grief, but, when he turned back to Kivan, his expression once again became one of the anger that is helped by a few cups. Xan sighed.

"We don't want your kind here!" the man roared. "Strutting around like you own the place, filling young boys heads with wild tales, making them run away looking for death!"

Estel carefully looked sideways at the older elf, trying to predict his reaction. Truth be told, she was a little scared of the archer ever since their first meeting, even if it was fear mixed with fascination. In retrospect, inviting along a strange ruthless man you met in the woods during a bandit attack wasn't one of the wiser decisions, but it felt _right_ at the time. Her worst fears, however, were not to come true, as Kivan did not shoot the man on the spot for insulting him, but instead replied calmly and with surprising insight.

"I mourn your loss, good man," he said. "But few of us are drawn into this life of our own wish. When it is forced on us, we have no choice but to take it."

Xan sighed his agreement. Estel blinked, the memory of that horrible night she lost her father brought back to the front of her mind by his words. That was the bitter truth, wasn't it? Children grew up listening to the stories of great adventurers, imagining themselves fighting alongside them. They never thought about deaths, pain, hardships that were all part of an adventurer's life. She searched her memories for a hero who wasn't forced on that road by some tragedy of his past, and found few.

"And how did you force this poor lad into it, then?" the man deflated considerably at the lack of aggressive rebuke on Kivan's side, but wouldn't give up. "Or did you run away from your parents too?"

"I am an orphan, sir," Estel answered, hiding her irritation carefully. She found that people's pity directed at her was annoying. And why did no one ever pity Imoen that same way? Where was Imoen, anyway?

"Trouble?" Jaheira showed up before the man could come up with something else.

"No trouble," Kivan answered calmly. "Have you found out where he is?"

"Yes," the druid frowned at the sitting man and then dismissed him completely, focusing again on their purpose here. "I know which room is his. Where is that insufferable child?"

Estel looked around for the answer to this question she wondered about for some time now. A flash of pink drew her attention to the bar where her friend chatted lively with an unfamiliar elf. The elf leaned casually on the counter, far too close for the first meeting, and Imoen seemed unusually… gigglish. Feeling Jaheira's heavy glare, the girl turned and waved at them. She grabbed the elf by the arm and dragged him to them.

"Everyone, this is Coran," she declared enthusiastically. "Coran is a dragon hunter!"

"Wyvern," the handsome young elf corrected her with a charming smile, his eyes skipping expertly over the group before stopping at Estel. There was a distinct gleam in his emerald eyes when he continued, looking directly at her. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

Estel smiled back a little uneasily. It was good to finally meet an elf who wasn't all doom and gloom, but this one was a little too cheerful for comfort.

"Anyway, Coran is going off to hunt wyverns in Cloakwood! We could go with him instead of all this boring iron business!" Imoen looked pleadingly at Jaheira.

"Absolutely not!" the druid replied indignantly, not even going to start explaining the obvious.

"Oh come on! It will be fun!" Imoen turned to Estel for support.

"Sorry," Estel grimaced apologetically. "I think what we do now is important."

Her childhood friend pouted, but Coran did not seem put out one bit.

"Another time, perhaps, Imoen the Quick," he reached for the girl's hand and kissed it, causing her to giggle again and Jaheira to scowl. He grinned and bowed to the druid with a flourish. "And now I must be off."

Imoen looked wistfully after him and then turned to Jaheira accusingly. "Why do you hate all fun?!"

"Drop this nonsense, we have business here," the older woman scolded her and went up the stairs without another glance at the girl.

The innkeeper supplied her with the key to the door they needed, but Tranzig wasn't inside. The mess in the room suggested that he left in a hurry and did not intend to come back. Jaheira looked around in desperation.

"It ap-pears he n-noticed us c-coming," Khalid remarked.

Kivan silently strolled over to the open window to examine it closely. It was possible for someone looking out that window to see whoever was coming into the inn.

"I knew all those fools talking about us resolving troubles in the mines would make trouble for us," Jaheira rubbed her forehead.

"And then he would have just enough time to escape through the window," Xan added. "He's probably already out of town."

"More than enough time, considering how we stopped to chat with random vagabonds," the druid cast a dark look in Imoen's direction, which the girl answered with a comical grimace.

"And look, this one was smart enough to burn the letters," Estel carefully picked up what was left of a sheet of paper from under the table. Luckily for them, there were still a few readable words or parts of them. "Too bad he didn't notice it wasn't burned completely and got swept under the table. I think."

"What does it say?" Kivan and Jaheira were on her immediately.

"There's not much… I think that's 'next', and this looks like 'Lars'… 'Lars'-something…" she rotated the burnt piece of paper carefully, trying to make out something else, but the piece was just too small.

"Larswood," Kivan finished for her. "They must be planning the next attack in Larswood."

"A slim lead… But it is all we have for the moment," Jaheira said resolutely. They could try looking for Tranzig himself, but the innkeeper couldn't give her a description that would be of much use. According to him, the man was quite average and unremarkable. "Good find, Estel."

* * *

><p>Tranzig hated horses, but, as he was leaving Beregost on one, he couldn't keep the smug grin off his face even despite the abysmal creature's shaky trot. Writing a letter and then burning it in such a way that only the part he needed survived and leaving it in a place that would appear accidental, all in such a short time, was no small feat. Adventurers didn't tend to be smart, but they were always oh so happy to rush ahead on assumption that evil was stupid and made stupid mistakes. He had to admit, there really were people like Mulahey to give evil such poor reputation. But it was all for the best.<p>

All that remained was to warn Tazok.

* * *

><p>An: I find it funny that evil guys always conveniently leave things like letters and sometimes even maps for the heroes to find, no matter how much role-playing games evolve over years.

And I have another drawing for you. This one is not exactly an illustration, but more of a "what if": "What if Estel succumbs to her taint and becomes the goddess of Murder?" I wish there was a better way of showing illustrations than this… Or maybe there is and I just don't know it? Anyway, the link to deviantArt is below, you need to close the spaces:

fav. me /d54o3ws


	11. Communion

Estel paused to catch her breath and leaned on a tree. She was so tired from running and slipping and stumbling… The elf breathed heavily, fighting to keep her heart from ripping out of her chest. Her dress had long since turned to rags, heavy with mud.

A strange rustle separated itself from the menacing whispering of leaves above her head. Footsteps. She started running again, not daring to even look back. She kept running until she heard voices ahead. Uncertain, Estel paused. There was no sign of her pursuers, and perhaps the people ahead could help her. But what if they were in league with the ones hunting her? She had to make sure. She was done running. Gathering the ripped hem of her dress in her hand, she crept closer.

Her hope was crushed the moment she could make out the words. "Hand over your ward and you can walk away," the familiar voice boomed. It was him, the monster that killed her father. Suddenly shaking with terror and hating herself for it, Estel made a step back, but the next voice stopped her.

"Lay down your weapons and _you_ can walk away," Gorion's voice said calmly. Gorion, her father. Alive. She could help him this time, she could fix it all. _She could kill them all_. The thought came from some deep, ancient place inside her that had no use for words or mercy. It demanded blood for the blood spilled, suffering for the suffering endured. Before she knew it, she was gripping her bow tightly, creeping quietly to the bushes that lined the clearing.

She stood there, hiding behind Gorion, a scared child in her pretty new leather armor. But Estel's attention was captured by her father. Ever since that night she had pushed the memory of him to the back of her mind, afraid that seeing him in reverie would re-open the wound that was still too fresh. But now he stood there tall, radiating calm strength, as if he'd never left. And at the sight of him the blood thirst that clouded her mind in red mist faded away. All her life Gorion taught her the value of life. It was a miracle to be cherished, not a trophy to be taken. Even if she felt that someone deserved to die, it was not her decision to make. She never doubted him until now.

Suddenly, she became aware of another presence in the forest. She'd never felt it before, but now she could sense its annoyance.

Back on the clearing, another-her stepped out from behind her father. In a flurry of blows she cut through the monster's cronies, finally beheading the monster himself. Once finished, she turned to where Estel was hiding and looked directly into her eyes, as if she knew Estel was there. Another-Estel was… mesmerizing. Her powerful presence made her look tall. In the night forest she was the only one possessing full, rich colors: the scarlet splatter of fresh blood on her armor, her flowing red hair, burning like flame… and her eyes, glowing wicked yellow like the eyes of the monster that killed her father. The apparition held a promise of what she could be.

_You will learn._

* * *

><p>Estel woke up with a start, the words from the dream fading slowly, making way for the usual sounds of the camp at night. The crackling of the fire and the calm breathing of the sleeping chased them away.<p>

"Oh, you're already awake!" Imoen exclaimed quietly, careful not to awaken anyone else. "Kivan is too. That's good, I'm dying to sleep!"

"Xan is still refusing to teach you magic, I take it?" Estel sat up and smirked, looking at the elven mage who sat a little way away with a harassed look on his face.

"Can you imagine it?" Imoen crossed her arms and shot the mage she shared a watch with an expressive look. "And after I made you guys dinner and all! I mean, how responsible is that, right?"

"Right…" Estel agreed carefully, hoping that her face was hidden well while she put on her armor. The vision of Imoen's stew still haunted her and was probably what brought on the nightmare in the first place. Once done, she sought out Kivan. The elf felt eyes upon him and raised his head from mending his cloak. "We'll take it from here, get to sleep, guys."

It did not take long for Imoen and Xan to join sleeping Jaheira and Khalid. Silence spread over the clearing - not the threatening silence of her nightmare, but the silence of night forest made of countless sounds. She was becoming familiar with that silence, but it still did not feel safe.

And she still didn't know what to make of Kivan. The elf did his part for the group, but kept to himself when he was not required. It wasn't that he actively pushed people away, it was more a kind of invisible barrier that kept them at a distance. Estel looked at him and remembered Xan's words.

_It was the first day they were traveling with Kivan. The elf had naturally assumed the scout's position and was rarely seen. Xan caught Estel watching the archer's retreating back as he disappeared into the trees yet again._

_"Do not waste yourself on this one," the mage warned._

_"What?" Estel blinked, caught off guard and not quite understanding what he meant._

_"Did you see the markings on his face?" Xan looked with sadness at the spot where they'd last seen Kivan. "He has pledged himself to Shevarash." _

_"The god of revenge?" Estel shrugged. "So he hates drow. Why do you sound like we should bury him and get on with our lives?"_

_"Because he is not living," Xan looked pained, but she couldn't tell whether it was at his kinsman's sad fate or at her usual lack of understanding of the elven ways._

_"I didn't notice any bits falling off of him," she felt like aggravating him further. Getting clear information from Xan was an art in itself._

_"I mean that his markings say that he is avenging the death of someone very dear to him and means to follow her into Arvaneith when he's done," the mage blurted out, annoyed at her making light of the issue._

_"Her… you mean like his lover?" Estel felt the tips of her ears burning. _

_"His soulmate, humans would say. You are raised with human understanding of love. Elven love is… well, you will know one day."_

_"If I live that long, you mean," the girl smirked to hide her discomfort. _

_"Yes," Xan sighed. "But Kivan… he does not intend to live long."_

Raised among humans, Estel could not imagine such devotion that would make you follow the one you love into the afterlife. It seemed too cruel and frightening to love at all. With a start, she realized that she was staring, and that Kivan's black eyes were boring into her in return.

"I'm… sorry, I did not mean to stare," she looked away quickly. Silence settled over them once again, but this time it was increasingly uncomfortable. Gathering her courage, she looked at him again. "It is true? That you are going to die when you avenge her? Xan told me."

"It is true," Kivan answered in a calm way that horrified Estel even more. It was as if he had no fear of dying, as if it was a decision made long ago that he accepted completely and saw no other options. "Does that frighten you?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Well… yes."

"You are young, you do not yet comprehend death," the expression on his face softened into a not-quite-smile.

"And raised by humans, say it," Estel busied herself with poking the coals with a stick.

"It does not matter who raised you. If being elven was about what you know, then anyone could become an elf by reading books."

"There weren't many books about elves in Candlekeep," Estel cut in quickly and immediately regretted it. She didn't want Kivan to think that her sole knowledge of the world up until the last few weeks came from books. The older elf's smile widened slightly at her fluster.

"No one can teach you being elven. You simply _are_," he finished the thought. "And that also means loving one person for all eternity, in this world and the next," his voice turned wistful. "You will find such person one day, and then you will simply know that there is no life for you without that person, though I pray you do not have to experience that kind of loss."

"Xan said the same thing," the girl grumbled. "You think I'm a child that doesn't know anything about life yet."

"I think that your life still lies before you, and there will be many wondrous things for you to discover." Estel looked up, surprised to find such compassion in this aloof man. Somehow he was making her feel safe and hopeful for the future the way no one did since her father's death. It was ironic that this came from a man who had no hopes for the future himself. "Mine, however, is behind me. There is only one thing left for me to do here."

"Tazok killed her, didn't he? That's why you're after him."

"Yes," he simply said, not wishing to go into details.

"I lost my father recently," she said in a way of awkward comforting. "He was killed."

"I mourn your loss, Estel," Kivan said softly.

There was silence once again, but in a few moments Estel found herself spilling her entire life story out to this strange elf. Words came tumbling out, nearly tripping over each other as she recounted everything from her life in Candlekeep to the forest she kept returning to in her nightmares. She talked of her doubts and fears, of discrepancy between bare knowledge and real experience, Gorion's lessons on the value of life and the grim necessity to kill. It was a great relief to tell someone all of it. Kivan listened silently, allowing her to let it all out. When she finished, Estel looked at him almost fearfully, waiting for his verdict.

"Pay no mind to Xan's words, Estel," he said. "You may have been raised by a human, but you feel and act like an elf. In time, you will find your balance."

"Some elf I am… Can't even feel at home in a forest," Estel hemmed. "I've read all these books about rangers and forest lore, and what do I have to show for it?"

"You've read all the right books, but it is time for you to start living," Kivan insisted. "I cannot teach you to be an elf, but I can at least teach you how to listen to the woods. For whatever time I have left in your company."

The reminder that his days were numbered drained enthusiasm that Estel had for his offer. She refused to believe that someone not only accepted their death, but would greet it like an old friend. Xan with his doom-saying was only showing his great fear of death, but Kivan spoke of it calmly and matter-of-factly. And if the former simply annoyed her whenever the subject was brought up, the latter made her feel helpless and furious. Therefore, her usual strategy with Xan to ridicule his fears simply wouldn't work here.

"We should make the most of this time, then," she smiled, quietly deciding to convince Kivan during that time that life wasn't over when you lost someone you loved. He might keep saying that she won't understand until she falls in love herself, but he was also the one insisting that she should trust her feelings. And her feelings were telling her she wasn't going to stand by while he calmly went to his death.

"True. But not tonight. It is to the night we should listen, not out voices," he picked up his cloak again, going back to mending it.

Estel threw back her head to look up. The moon was high, glistening Tears of Sel_û_ne ever following it across the night sky. A blanket of peace spread over her for the first time since she and Gorion left the walls of Candlekeep. For the time being, her doubts were dispelled, her fears chased away. The future held hope.


	12. Camping

Sarevok entertained himself with inventing gruesome deaths for those dull idiots he had to listen to during these high council meetings. Of course, they would be dead long before he ascended and had his own priests for this kind of bloody sacrifice, so he had to do everything himself for now. But when he finally ascended, sniveling cowards like Kestor would burn. Slowly.

"I have been informed that Zhentarim sent their own agents to investigate these rumors," the man continued under the heavy gaze of Sarevok's piercing eyes. He'd always found those eyes… unnerving. He hated dealing with Rieltor's son, partly because Sarevok somehow always managed to have things his way, but mainly because, when those eyes were looking at you, you were perfectly content to let him have his way, if only to get out sooner and with all parts still attached. Rumor had it that tattoos on his forehead signified the completion of Deathbringer training. Kestor had no trouble believing that. "The brewing war with Amn is bad enough, but if Zhentarim learns of our… involvement…"

"So deal with them," Sarevok waved his hand dismissively. All this nonsense distracted him from what was really important: hunting down that monk Gorion's whelp. Father should've been the one to attend these meetings instead of going off to babysit Tuth who'd suddenly decided things were getting too hot for his liking. And now all Sarevok's people were proving annoyingly incompetent in tracking down one elven girl.

Sarevok remembered her from the time he visited Candlekeep to find out more about Alaundo's prophecies. She was no more than an errand girl for the monks, good for nothing but fetching things and doing chores. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps she was long dead, surely someone like that couldn't survive outside the library walls on her own. Particularly as that one was an attractive girl. The warrior found himself disappointed at that thought. But then, what could he expect from someone raised by an old Harper?

"I say we just kill dem," Brunos proposed. There was a man after Sarevok's own heart. Regrettably, he wasn't a man after Sarevok's own brain. It was a wonder he was in the Iron Throne inner circle at all. It was Sarevok's understanding that Brunos had recently "inherited" the position from his deceased father.

"And they'll just send more to find out who killed their agents!" Kestor threw up his hands in despair.

Of course, there was also that troublesome group of Harpers meddling as only Harpers could meddle. The idiot Mulahey went and got himself killed, revealing the whole ore-poisoning plan. But that was hardly relevant: much of the ore had already been poisoned by that time and it would be years until the mines returned to their former productivity, if they ever recovered at all. And with the bandits still blocking the iron arteries of the area everything could proceed as planned. But still, the Harpers had to be dealt with before they could do more damage.

"Perhaps that problem can fix itself," Sarevok said thoughtfully.

"Fix itself how?"

"Have your men steer those Zhents subtly on the trail of the Harpers," he elaborated. If he could use the situation to provoke these old enemies into an open confrontation in addition to the war between Baldur's Gate and Amn… Rivers of blood from Alaundo's prophecies and Sarevok's own dreams shall flood the SwordCoast.

"Yes," Kestor's worried face brightened. "I can see how that could work…"

After the specifics were discussed and everyone had finally left, Sarevok lingered to look out of the large window into the busy streets of Baldur's Gate. Little people scurried about their little lives. Somewhere behind the doors of their little houses hideous crimes were committed on daily basis. Sarevok knew enough of families through his own to realize that people were, on the whole, evil bastards who would worship any god, put any tyrant on the throne not out of some special kind of deviousness but because they just wouldn't say 'no'. Oh, that little group of adventurers might be troublesome, but they couldn't change the nature of people. Those very people would serve to elevate him, and they would believe that it was the right thing to do.

"Turning your enemies against each other… interesting," a female voice drawled behind him. Sarevok suppressed a wince. He didn't need to turn around to know that it was Cythandria. "Brunos sounded really impressed."

He grunted. It was painfully obvious what an exquisite woman like her was doing with a brute like Brunos. Cythandria was drawn to power and expensive gifts. She was the kind of woman who found bloody gruesome tales thrilling and arousing, but would never soil her expensive velvet gloves with blood herself. If Sarevok was capable of pity, he would pity the man who consented himself with this kind of fake relationship. But Brunos was most likely too dense to realize that he was simply being used, and that now Cythandria was after a bigger fish.

"Not even a smile?" her voice now sounded right next to his ear, hot breath on sensitive skin.

"There is nothing to smile at yet," Sarevok answered, entirely unimpressed.

* * *

><p>Splashing and laughter intertwined themselves with the usual busy sounds of a forest. Estel, industriously attempting to snatch one of the silvery forms swirling underwater between her feet, lost her balance on the slippery stones and went headlong into the stream, her hands still outstretched. Jaheira, entirely unamused, wiped the water from her face with as much dignity as one could muster while standing barefoot in a forest stream.<p>

"You're scaring them all away," she reprimanded the girl. Her attempts to teach her wards at least some basics of survival were not going quite as planned. The girl seemed to be in an unusually good mood. Perhaps she had finally dealt with her nightmares. It was difficult to hide fitful sleep in a camp, and Estel's troubles provoked quite an argument between Jaheira and Khalid. Eventually the druid managed to convince her husband to let the girl overcome it by herself.

"Maybe I mean to," Estel stood up and waved her hands dramatically. "Fly, fly, lest Jaheira eats you!"

"Maybe we should get back to the topic of nutritional value of caterpillars," the druid proposed, raising her eyebrow.

"Right. Fishing," the girl moved her feet apart for better balance and crouched, her face a mask of concentration.

A little way away, Kivan didn't quite smile, but allowed his face to relax into a fond expression. He had forgotten what it was like to travel with good companions. The druid, Jaheira, and her husband were honorable warriors and deeply caring for nature. Estel in her boyish disguise reminded him of himself when he was younger and still finding his way in the world. Her friend, Imoen, was that kind of person who always was able to find the brighter side of everything, and thus completely indispensable to the group. And, of course, it was an honor to fight alongside a Moonblade wielder. Together they might just be able to help him finish the one task that remained to him in this world. Still, it was a strange feeling to share his burden with others. Sometimes he thought that it was all a mistake, that he owed it to Deheriana to finish this alone… But he couldn't fight the whole camp by himself.

The elf got a better hold of his arrow and pierced water with it in a quick motion. When he pulled it back out, there was a silvery fish struggling on it. With a sudden urge to smirk triumphantly he looked up and saw Estel struggling to keep the fish she caught in her hands. The girl did not fight her own urge to smirk at him and, just as she lost concentration, the fish took the opportunity to escape, but not before slapping its captor in the face with its tail. Estel stuck her tongue out in response to the burst of laughter from the riverbank.

Kivan went out of the water to get the fish back to Khalid who sat on the bank sharpening his knife.

"M-my hand used t-to be steadier," the half-elf said apologetically, as if expecting Kivan to ask why he had not participated.

"You are a fine warrior, Khalid," the elf said solemnly, putting his hand on the half-elf's shoulder. "I know what it is like to be broken."

Next to them, Imoen was yet again pestering Xan about mage training.

"Why do you even think you have magical talent?" the elf threw up his hands in despair.

"Well, I turned my hair pink," the human girl shrugged.

"That's hair dye," Xan rolled his eyes.

"No, silly, back when I was a baby! I just liked it and decided to keep it."

The mage groaned. Some innate ability at Transmutation? "Sorcerer?"

"What, we're doomed?" Imoen was looking at him curiously. She knew about sorcerers. Unlike wizards who had to study and memorize spells, sorcerers just… had magic. It was really neat if she actually had some untapped magical potential.

"Well, the probability of dying from you accidentally setting the camp on fire while having a nightmare just went up considerably," Xan sighed. "Very well, I will teach you, if only to prevent you from hurting yourself or others with the power you don't know how to control."

"What, you mean like turning their hair pink?"

"Well, you did nearly set the library on fire that one time," Estel was hurrying over with her prey. "Brother Ethelward still stammers."

"That wasn't me!" Imoen protested indignantly.

"I believe you," Estel said quickly and looked up at Jaheira. Between the three of them they now had enough fish to feed everyone. "Are we going to fry it on a stick now, or…?"

"First scrape off the scales and gut it," the druid commanded and pressed the knife into her hand.

The elf blinked. She looked at the knife, then at the pile of fish, some of it still wriggling. "Oh for Silvanus's sake! Haven't you ever prepared food?"

"Not really," Estel frowned. "The kitchens were even more _sacred _than the library. At least that's how the cook saw it. She'd let me fetch stuff from the village, but not… gut it. And there were always a lot of people in the kitchens, cooking for the whole keep, so we never cooked for ourselves."

"Sounds like the monks of Candlekeep lead quite comfortable existence," Xan commented.

"Well, they do a lot of work collecting knowledge and preserving it."

Kivan, suddenly feeling the change in the forest, rose and stalked to the edge of their camp, forcing the voices of his companions to become distant background noise.

Jaheira looked up from her demonstration of the art of gutting a fish. "What do you see, elf?" she asked.

"I will scout ahead. Keep quiet," Kivan picked up his bow and disappeared into the bushes, his moss-green cloak blending with the leaves. He followed the voices, jarring against the harmony of natural sounds of the forest. Larswood wasn't as vast as Shilmista, or even nearby Cloakwood, but it was still a forest, and searching it for the bandit camp took time… or luck. The last two days were luckless. Perhaps today was finally the day.

Voices led him to a wide path. Three people were walking along it, speaking carelessly. Two of them carried a freshly killed deer carcass. Kivan's blood boiled. It took a lot of self-control to quietly follow these men. Killing three poachers accomplished him nothing, but if they led him to the bandit camp…

The men were completely oblivious to the elf following them silently. When they led him to their camp, Kivan could barely stop himself from giving away his position out of sheer disappointment. It did indeed look like a bandit camp, but it was too small to be _the_ bandit camp. He had hoped… but no, there was no sign of his sworn enemy. A few humans were mixed among half-orcs, hobgoblins, and even some gnolls. The Chill. It wasn't surprising that Tazok would seek their alliance, for he himself was a half-ogre and a villain. But it was still worrying that he was able to obtain it. At the time of their first _meeting_ Tazok only had a usual band of bandits under his command. But now he was able to block off the trade routes of an entire region. It was clear that Tazok himself would not be able to achieve that, he had to work for someone much more powerful… But no, this was no concern of Kivan's. The only thing he had to concentrate on was his vengeance.

Having appraised the camp's defenses, Kivan retreated back into the woods, fighting off bitter disappointment. Perhaps someone in this camp, taken prisoner, would give them clues as to the location of the main camp… It went against all his convictions to let any of those vile creatures live, but if that restraint got him closer to Tazok, then by Shevarash he would do it.


	13. Rain of Arrows

It was raining. This was a fortunate circumstance that evened the odds out somewhat with their keen-nosed opponents. Above their heads, drowning out all other sounds, raindrops so rapid that they turned into streams of water drummed on the leaves. Struggling not to slip on the wet grass, Estel was reminded of the night she fled Candlekeep, grief-stricken and frightened. She wanted to believe that everything was different now. She wasn't alone and she wasn't running. By her side, Kivan was hastily whispering the last instructions on shooting in heavy rain to her. Ahead of them, shrouded by the curtain of falling water, Jaheira slinked forward confidently. Imoen, having attached herself to the mage of the group quite inseparably, was pestering Xan about spells he was going to use. It didn't surprise Estel much that by now the elf wasn't quite so annoyed by her questions. Khalid, as always, was bringing up the rear.

They split up before reaching the bandit camp, and Estel felt the nervous lump in her throat swell. They were on their own out here. There were no authorities to take these bandits to, no help if they ran into trouble - the nearest town was too far away. The only possible outcome was to kill or be killed. Somehow the former still scared her more than the latter. But here, deep in the forest, her hesitation was the difference between life and death for those who relied on her to do her part. She ran away once into the dark rainy forest. Not again.

Lightning flashed above, reflecting for a split second off the water that gathered on the tip of her arrow. Estel swore silently and peeked though the leaves. The camp was living what she assumed was normal camp life; no one seemed to notice the momentary glitter of metal in the bushes on the edge of the clearing. Everyone was too busy hiding from the rain to pay more than token attention to anything. Readying her bow once again, the elf prepared to wait.

She didn't have to wait long. At Jaheira's signal arrows rained on the clearing, precise and deadly. The bandits jumped to their feet and were about to run to whomever was attacking them, but all hope of organized resistance was lost when the very roots of the trees turned against them, crawling out of the ground to grab at their feet. Estel saw Jaheira perform this trick before, when they were running away from the gnolls. What she had not seen before was Xan using the rainwater to send sharp icicles the enemy's way. But she would have to put the awe off for after the battle, and instead use the time and confusion the druid had given them to pick out more bandits.

Shooting was easier. That way you did not have to see up close the pain you inflicted. But they were only three archers and a mage against an entire camp, and eventually the bandit commanders managed to restore some semblance of order to their men and the two sides came to a clash. Taking out her sword and praying she did not slip in the mud, Estel ran out of cover to join the others.

Kivan's face, illuminated only by the flashes of lightning, was a mask of grim determination as he cut down yet another bandit, hoping against all reason that the next one to attack him would be Tazok. He had dogged the half-ogre for such a long time now, never getting close enough for a fatal blow before Tazok would move on to somewhere else to kill, rape and plunder at the behest of yet another powerful patron. Normal working people living in their homes and paying taxes would be surprised to know how often the decent and popular powers that be hired thoroughly indecent and unpopular people like Tazok to do their dirty work, and how well an unprincipled monster like Tazok could do for himself if he had the intuition to find someone else to work for just before his former employer fell out of favor.

Tazok enjoyed 'their little game', as he had put it once, when Kivan thought he had finally had him, but all he'd got was an empty glade bearing traces of a camp that had recently been there and a mocking note. 'Their little game.' Not this time. This time Kivan wasn't alone and, if they kept clearing out the bandits in these forests, Tazok would soon find himself to be a very lonely man indeed.

Something unusual about his new opponent caused Kivan to awaken from his thoughts of revenge. The figure was small and slender, too small for the brutes he had fought before. What's more, he could sense the presence of one of his kind.

Imanel Siversword smirked under her hood, seeing the ranger's hesitation. Tazok told her all about the revenge-crazed ranger who was following him everywhere ever since he killed the elf's wife and left him for dead. Imanel thought Tazok was not so bad for a stupid half-breed. He was ruthless, calculating and inventive when it came to torturing and killing. Imanel approved of those qualities. Besides, he was a reliable employer. On the other hand, this elf, even though much cuter, was good, unselfish and honorable. Qualities that, in Imanel's personal vocabulary, amounted to 'stupid' and, eventually, 'dead'. All the more stupid and all the sooner dead as, she knew, elves like that had some sort of peculiar code that forbade them to kill their own kind.

Kivan's eyes widened in shock as his opponent threw back her hood, revealing exquisitely beautiful elven woman, silver hair spilling onto her shoulders once freed of the confines of the hood. His sword arm lowered of its own accord. That moment of lowered defenses was all Imanel needed to get her dagger wedged deeply into the elf's side.

"No!" a high-pitched scream of fury reached Imanel, breaking through the cacophony of clanging weapons, thunder, screams and falling water. She turned to the source, letting the wounded elf fall to the ground. An elven boy stood there, short black hair plastered to his distressed young face. Rain mixed with blood trickled down his sword. A son, perhaps? Tazok never mentioned any children with the ranger, but these two both had black hair and bronze skin, so maybe... It made no difference, of course. He would be even easier to deal with than the father, but perhaps more fun.

Estel looked down at Kivan. The elf was clutching his side, struggling to grab his sword with the other hand. No one else was close enough or free enough to help; they were rounding up the remaining bandits who attempted to scatter into the woods. It didn't matter. Not with Kivan lying on the ground, his blood mixing with mud, that horrible woman standing over him triumphant.

She screamed again and ran at her, sword raised, all reservations forgotten. Imanel smirked, raising her daggers, one still covered in Kivan's blood. She parried the furious blow easily, twisting the sword and nearly wrenching it out of her opponent's hand. An assassin learned early in her career the dangers of strong emotion in a fight. Of course, sometimes a talented amateur could get lucky and strike true in anger, but those were the rare exceptions. The boy kept on striking, evidently determined to get that exception to happen by sheer number of attempts. His strikes had certain skill to them, Imanel was forced to admit when the blade nearly sliced at her neck. This was no farm boy, then, taking up arms for the first time, but a young warrior, skilled but untried in real battle.

That was even better. That made her opponent that much more predictable.

In her rage, Estel noticed the cut on her forehead only when the blood got into her eye, interfering with vision. The silver elf was fast, so fast that she couldn't get the sword past the defensive net her daggers created. Oblivious to the ache in her sword arm, she kept on striking, changing the angle and coming at the assassin from different sides.

Imanel screamed from the sudden pain in her leg and stumbled forward. Without thinking, Estel plunged the sword into the elf's chest, and the fight finally came to a stop. Struggling under the weight of her opponent's lifeless body, Estel threw her off and pulled her sword out with effort. There was another weapon, an elven knife she recognized as Kivan's, piercing the silver elf's calve. Suddenly hopeful from that discovery, Estel rushed to the ranger.

"P-poison," Kivan managed to breathe out as she carefully pried his hand away to examine the wound. He felt numb, his fingers barely responding to his commands by now. It took all his stubborn concentration to raise that knife. But he couldn't die yet, not before he had fulfilled his vow to Deheriana. Shevarash didn't let him die then, when he lied by his wife's broken body. He wouldn't let him die now, when he was so close to his revenge.

"You'll be fine," Estel whispered, cringing at how trite and impotent that phrase was. Pressing her hand to the wound to stop the flow of blood, she wished fervently for a miracle. Estel never was very religious. Like any inhabitant of Toril, she accepted the existence of gods as a fact, but had never found the one her heart lied with. The monks worshiped Oghma, the Lord of Knowledge, and she visited the church on the keep's grounds sometimes, but now, when she really prayed for the first time, there was no name in her mind, no words in her prayer. It was a primal thing, anger at the broken world that needed to be put right.

Jaheira halted in her run to them and stared in awe at the faint warm light that enveloped Kivan. It lingered for a few seconds, reflecting off the water, and then faded into nothing.

Kivan relaxed, terrifying numbness in his limbs gone. There was still pain, but, as Estel carefully took her shaking hand off his wound, blood was no longer gushing out of it. He felt… well, no longer dying. Kivan looked up, into his savior's bloodied face, - for he knew that whatever that warm healing wave was, it came from her, - and smiled.

"_Mellonamin_," the word tasted strange on his tongue, unused for far too long. But it was true. She fought for him, bled for him; she'd given him another chance to avenge his Deheriana. This gentle child, this fearsome protector. "_Thank you_."

Estel just stared at him, shocked by this sudden display of healing powers even more than anyone else.

"What was it? What have you done?" Jaheira demanded, and suddenly they were surrounded by all their worried and curious friends… and more. Khalid dragged a man with him who seemed completely immobilized.

"Xan did it," Imoen enlightened them smugly. "Isn't magic just amazing?"

"Yes…" Estel agreed weakly, staring at her bloodied hand as if it had suddenly become a tentacle.

"Xan, did it look like a divine spell to you?" the druid was determined to get to the truth.

"Could be," the elven mage shrugged. "However unlikely."

"Oh come on, just admit that some god is obviously looking out for us and we're not doomed!" Imoen clapped him on the shoulder.

"I don't know any spells," Estel muttered reprehensively.

"You're covered in blood," Jaheira took Estel by the chin and turned her head to get a better look at the cut on her forehead.

"Just a cut and a few bruises," Estel recoiled. "Kivan still needs healing."

The ranger sat up with an effort and resigned himself to Jaheira's ministrations. The Seldarine watched over young Estel, then. There could be no other explanation. It was a pity that life forced a sword into her hand when her true calling was so obviously for healing. He could easily picture her in a temple of Rillifane deep in the elven lands, healing bodies and minds.

"_To my beloved Kivan…"_ Estel slowly said in Elvish in that thick accent of hers. Kivan jumped and looked at her with wide eyes. So did everyone else. "It says so on her bow," she explained, glad to take everyone off the topic of her sudden healing powers. "How can it say so on her bow?" She held up a powerful-looking bow of elven make.

"That…" Kivan's voice failed him. "That was Deheriana's wedding gift to me."

Estel passed him the weapon and the ranger grasped it eagerly. He ran his fingertips over the intricate carvings that held memories of long-gone, happier days. How appalling it was that this beautiful gift had served as a weapon of murder for an oath-breaker. He looked up at Estel, lost for words, hoping that she could see in his eyes the depth of gratitude he felt, sense it in his spirit.

Their prisoner groaned with effort in another attempt to gather enough willpower to break the spell binding him. "Right. Who's for interrogating the statue guy?" Imoen called out, eager to be done with the awkward moment that looked like some spiritual elvish thing.


	14. Bill the Bandit

Their prisoner was not a very imposing man. About average height and average build, with an average face that could not be called either very handsome or ugly, short mousy hair, surprisingly few scars… He was the kind of man you'd pass by without second thought. In fact, his most distinguishing feature at the moment was the blooming bruise on his left cheekbone that Khalid gave him while he was trying to escape from the battle. For some reason you always subconsciously expected evil to somehow corrupt the flesh, leave its mark on the outside so that no monster could hide from the righteous. Reality, sadly, wasn't quite so accommodating to the righteous, and the righteous had a difficult task of figuring it all out by themselves. Estel watched as Kivan interrogated the man who probably killed dozens of people, and he looked… almost innocent. Just another man caught up in events beyond his control.

At least, that's what he was trying to convince Kivan in.

"Look, I'm just a camp follower, I cook and stuff! I don't know anything!"

"So you're a cowardly bandit," Imoen shrugged, not looking up from the pile of loot she was sorting through. The bandit camp they ransacked provided no clues as to the location of the main camp, but it did have a lot of treasure, probably accumulated from all the travelers these bandits robbed and killed. Some of those trinkets were engraved and so could be returned to their previous owners' families, if the chance presented itself, but the rest, as Imoen saw it, were payment to be divided among members of the group. Adventurers did need to repair their weapons and armor and, plainly, eat. Those stuck up paladins could always get anything they needed from their temple, but Imoen the Quick didn't have a wealthy sponsor to allow herself to throw well-earned treasures away.

"I'm not a bandit!" the man shrieked. "I've never killed anybody!"

"Doesn't make you innocent if yours was not the hand that held the knife," Kivan cut him off irritably. The archer paced restlessly. This prisoner was their only link to Tazok, and so the elf had to control himself. Even Jaheira did not dispute his right to be the one to interrogate their captive, even though the druid watched him warily.

Estel's forehead throbbed. Jaheira did her best to heal the wicked slash that missed her eye by sheer miracle and cut across her eyebrow instead (as Imoen commented, Estel was simply lucky to be so short), but it still felt raw and itched and... smelled. The herbal concoction that Jaheira applied to Estel's first battle wound was eye-watering. She wasn't even going to start thinking about how she'd just actually intentionally killed someone.

"What's your name?" Estel pushed off the boulder she was sitting on and approached the prisoner.

"Uh... W-what?" the man stammered, looking at her as if she was some frightening apparition. To be fair, she probably was. She was tired, shaken, soaking wet and her forehead itched – all in all, she was in no mood to be the proper mild-mannered girl she was brought up to be.

"Your name," she repeated tiredly. "You do have one, right?"

"B-bill," the bandit answered after some hesitation.

"Alright, bandit Bill," Estel tried not to look in the direction of the snigger she heard. "We're all tired and soaked and want to get some well-earned rest by the fire, so let's not beat around the bush. You can't possibly think that whoever organized this will protect you. You might think they'll kill you if you betray them, but the simple fact is that they aren't here, Bill," she brought her face closer to the bandit's. "We are. And all of us have many good reasons and imagination for very inventive killing of the last surviving bandit in this camp."

The self-proclaimed Bill whimpered. One crazy elf with murderous black eyes, who was worryingly fondling the longbow he looted off Silversword, was bad enough. His maniacal smaller version who actually managed to kill Silversword was almost more than a man's bladder could handle.

"On the other hand," Estel straightened. "You will find us in a very happy and cooperative disposition if you just tell us where the main bandit camp is and how many bandits are there. Where and how many, Bill, that's all you need to say to book yourself a comfortable journey to Beregost where the local Flaming Fist detachment will be happy to accept into their protection the man who helped stabilize the entire region."

"They'll kill me and scalp me!" Bill squeaked.

"Think about it!" Estel hissed forcefully. "We can kill you now, or you can tell us what we need to know and wait out the destruction of your buddies in the custody of the guards who will be very lenient to a useful informant. And your bandit colleagues_ will_ be destroyed, I guarantee you that. Why stick to the losing side?"

"But I don't know..." the prisoner tried again.

"Estel, can I talk to you for a moment?" Jaheira interjected and walked away.

"I'll let you think on it," Estel promised and turned away, following Jaheira, and so she missed the uncharacteristically calculating look the bandit gave her retreating back.

Imoen didn't. She was watching her friend's tough show very intently, trying hard not to laugh and spoil everything.

"What are you doing?" Jaheira hissed once they were relatively out of earshot.

"Making him talk," Estel whispered back angrily. "Why would he talk if there's nothing in it for him?"

"But drag him all the way back to Beregost?"

"I'm sorry, were you planning to kill him once he spills everything?" the elf tried to raise an eyebrow, but it was still painful.

"He _is_ a bandit," the druid pointed out.

"He says he isn't, not really."

"And you believe him?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe, we're not killing a prisoner in cold blood, and we're definitely not promising to let him live to get information and _then_ killing him in cold blood." Estel was prepared to stand her ground. It was one thing to kill in battle, when you had no other choice; she was slowly coming to terms with that necessity. But it was quite the other to kill a helpless man who might've just fallen in with the wrong crowd, because it was _inconvenient_ to keep him alive. "We need to resupply in Beregost anyway. And we need help from the Flaming Fist to attack the main camp, it's just too big for us to handle on our own."

Jaheira looked at her intently, but Estel held her gaze. Finally, the druid nodded with satisfaction and went back to the prisoner, leaving bewildered Estel behind.

"Wait, was that a test? Jaheira!" Estel hated her guardian's 'figure it out by yourself' methods of education, even though she saw the value of such lessons.

"I'm telling you, it's all I know! I heard them talking about Cloakwood!" Bill was saying desperately to Kivan as she approached. The elf groaned inwardly. She'd read all sorts of things about Cloakwood. Giant spiders, wyvern lairs and portals to other planes particularly came to mind. That, however, didn't seem to discourage various bands of outlaws to make their bases in that ill-reputed forest. Or, perhaps, its danger was exactly the reason for its popularity with this kind of people: large bands of armed men presumably had no trouble fending off the otherwordly dangers of Cloakwood, whereas random possible witnesses invariably got eaten.

"Cloakwood is a vast forest." Kivan nodded to Estel and turned back to the prisoner.

"It's all I know!" he repeated desperately. "They said they had to deliver a message to Tazok in Cloakwood!"

The ranger bristled visibly at the mention of his enemy. Estel put a calming hand on his forearm. "Did they say anything else?"

"Well, then the other guy said good luck with that, and that it was as likely to end up spider snack as get to that camp," the bandit added thoughtfully. "Does that help?"

"South of Cloakwood is infested with giant spiders," Kivan said and Jaheira nodded her agreement. Estel couldn't suppress audible groan this time. _Spiders_. Giant ones. As a child she'd actually devoted some time to studying the possibility of spiders in general originating from another plane of existence. She just couldn't accept that something so revolting was a part of natural order.

There wasn't much else they could get out of Bill, and so, as promised, the party set out towards Beregost. There were supplies to purchase for braving the dangers of the ancient Cloakwood (Estel was particularly interested in antidotes against spider venom), wounds to heal and alliance with the Flaming Fist to secure. This mercenary band was what passed for the city guard in Baldur's Gate. In the city that was founded by pirates and mercenaries in the first place it made perfect sense. Their influence stretched almost as far as Nashkel, and it was actually their job to hunt down bandits and keep the roads clear.

Their prisoner was watched in turn by Kivan and Khalid. Not that he'd even attempted to escape. On the contrary, he seemed content to be given over to the Flaming Fist. All that seemed very suspicious to Imoen. She made a point of always walking behind Bill – if that was even his name; Imoen suspected it was rather something like Rodberg the Foul, - so that she could keep him in her sight.

"You're awfully quiet," Xan commented, walking beside her. He often drifted to the tail of the party, not quite built for long marches. "Up to something? Should I be worried?"

"You're doomed anyway, why bother?" the girl answered cheerfully. She'd already discovered that simply stating that everything would be alright because it ought to be alright was not enough with Xan. You had to make him contradict himself.

"Indeed," the mage sighed. "Must you make light of everything?"

"As opposed to poisoning my life by constantly dwelling on the risks and dangers?" Imoen shrugged. "It's all in the way you look at it. You can make the same life interesting and exciting or hopeless and dangerous. Your choice."

"Sometimes I envy your blind optimism," Xan rolled his eyes. There wasn't much else he could say, because, essentially, she was right. Some people were able to enjoy adventures and dangers and life on the road. Perhaps they saw some purpose in all this pointless struggle that eluded him.

"Yes, yes, what is the point if we're all going to die someday?" Imoen rolled her eyes, all too familiar with anything Xan had to say on the subject. No lesson in magic passed without a heated discussion on the pointlessness of life. "How does the fact that someday you're going to die prevent you from enjoying life today? Everyone and everything dies! What would be the point otherwise?"

"What is the point if everything dies?"

"That's the _whole_ point! Enjoy what you have now, because someday it's going to end! If you had eternal supply of apple pies, would you even care about them? An apple pie is tasty _because_ you don't have them all the time."

"Astonishing," Xan said after a few moments of silence. "You actually draw comfort from the same fact that gives me despair."

"Us humans are strange folk," the girl shrugged, watching the prisoner for any signs of misbehavior.

"And… this is what you think about when you seek purpose?" the elf asked, looking at her searchingly. When they first met, he'd thought there was nothing to her but childish cheerfulness and naivety that was going to get her killed soon enough. As their journey forced them closer together, he was beginning to see that… no, not that there was more to her than met the eye, not exactly. Imoen was indeed childish to some extent, endlessly cheerful and somewhat naïve. It was just that he was beginning to think his understanding of the words was flawed.

"Of course not, silly! I don't need to think about enjoying living to enjoy living. I just thought about it because I needed something to stop you talking about how everything is hollow and we're going to die. And then I remembered that year when we had so many apples, old Puffgut had to invent new dishes everyday just to get rid of them. There was that cider you could clean silver with, and apple soup, apple pies…" Imoen shuddered. "I still can't look at apples."

"I think I am going to have a mental picture of piles of apples every time I think about pointlessness of life," Xan raised an eyebrow.

"Good, that's what I was going for," Imoen answered, completely ignoring his sarcastic tone. "Anyway, this guy is up to something. I've seen how he watches Estel when he thinks no one is looking at him."

"There's nothing he can do. We'll be in Beregost soon, and he'll be safely off our hands," Xan looked at the bandit with worry.

"I'll be watching him, just in case. Tell me more about the magic Weave."


	15. Beregost Interlude

The memory of silvery locks spilling over the elf's shoulders lingered at the back of Estel's mind. She still remembered the fearless grin on the woman's ethereally beautiful face, her confident movements – so unlike Estel herself, in her still-juvenile awkwardness and self-doubts. The way her eyes glittered with the thrill of the fight, and her daggers wove the deadly silvery net around her.

She also remembered blood, mixing with rainwater and dripping from the dagger – Kivan's blood. And the rage she felt, breaking through all barriers of good nature and proper upbringing, flooding into her mind from some dark, primal place deep within.

And then, suddenly, the small body lying in the mud, stilled with dreadful finality. Thick mane of silver hair sullen from the fall into the dirt and plastered to the woman's face, obscuring the dim blue eyes utterly devoid of the glow of elven spirit. There it was, the only life she'd ever consciously taken by her own hands, and it was the life of another elf. The first of many lives, if she continued down this road.

"Are you moping in a corner again?"

"I do not mope," Estel protested wearily, looking up to see Imoen flop down on the bench next to her. Xan quietly took his place on the other side of the table and smoothed out his robes. The expression on his face stated clearly that he did not wish to be there, but was forced by the devious human.

"Oh, is it that elven thing Xan and Kivan are prone to, then?" Imoen clarified innocently.

"I do not mope!" Xan repeated indignantly.

"No, you do that 'tragic dying people' thing," Imoen waved him away and turned back to her childhood friend. "So which is it, O Blessed One?"

"Just tired," Estel took a seep of cold and disgusting tea. The Jovial Juggler, strangely enough, was mostly favored by passing soldiers and mercenaries, and most recently a detachment of the Flaming Fist, and so the owner was more used to serving stronger drinks. But money was money, and, with a certain amount of grumbling about elves and rabbits and their long ears and common love for grass, he was able to produce a brew that curled the tongue and made eyes water. "And stop with the Blessed One, will you?"

"Can't," Imoen shrugged. "What if I offend the god who watches over you?"

The thought still made Estel more that mildly uncomfortable. The existence of gods was accepted by the people of Faerûn as a simple fact of life. It was also largely accepted that most gods were more fickle than any tavern wench, especially after the mess they had created in the mortal realms during the Time of Troubles, when, as was recorded in the history books, 'the gods were made flesh and forced to walk the earth among their followers'. Estel was certainly old enough to remember the chaos wrought upon nature by uncontrolled magic, even sheltered behind the thick walls of Candlekeep as she was. She remembered the bloody sunrises and rains of fire that lit up the night sky, the thundering sounds in the distance with not a single cloud in the sky. Above all, she remembered her father's worried face. She'd never seen him so… frightened… before, and only once since, the night he dragged her out of her bed, of the familiar safety of Candlekeep and into the night forest. Strange men took to visiting Gorion in his tower in those days, talking in hushed voices and looking at her strangely, almost as if they were frightened of her. Those looks invariably made Gorion furious, and he would hush her away, but she would still hear the muffled sound of heated arguments behind closed doors. Sometimes, he would disappear for days, leaving her with strict instructions to stay inside and keep Imoen out of trouble. Then, there would be the waiting – for the end of the world or for his return, she never knew which.

Many gods – the eternal, the unknowable and indestructible gods, - were killed in their petty struggles for power while the mortal world around them burned, until suddenly one day it all ended. Sun rose in the clear sky over the ravaged land, and Gorion smiled and stroked her hair as they both watched from the top of his tower. '_It's over, child_,' he promised, but there was sadness in his voice that made her look up and see fear in his eyes when he looked at her, as if afraid that she might turn into sea foam in his arms.

Thinking that one of those gods decided to turn her into their plaything turned her stomach. Or maybe it was the tea.

"You're doing it again," Imoen snapped her fingers in front of Estel's face, making the elf jump.

"Just… don't," she grimaced. Imoen looked at the silent mage expectantly, as if he was supposed to say some rehearsed line.

"Well, she's right," Xan looked at the pink-haired girl almost apologetically and Imoen barely resisted the urge to slap her forehead. "It's never a good thing when gods take interest in you."

"Great. You two can get married and have many gloomy babies," Imoen rolled her eyes. "Can't you ever look on the bright side? Whichever god that was, they saved Kivan's life, isn't that a good thing?" She studied Xan's expression with sudden deep suspicion. "Isn't it?"

"Only if you don't take into consideration the fact that he actually wants to die," the mage shrugged. "Which he will anyway in this mad campaign, although now apparently later rather than sooner."

"Not before he has his revenge," Estel gulped down the remains of her tea and shuddered. "So… a good thing."

"See, a good thing," Imoen chose to ignore everything but the actual words. "I wish he and Jaheira finished tormenting this officer Vai and let us be on our way. This place is _boring_."

* * *

><p><p>

Officer Vai, the leader of the Flaming Fist detachment in Beregost, turned out to be a very decent, - if not for her disturbing, in Estel's opinion at least, liking for collecting bandit scalps, - and practical woman. It wasn't difficult to convince her to take Bill into custody, even if only to see if she'd be able to beat some more information out of him. Bill was simply glad to not have been scalped and killed. Furthermore, she agreed to Estel's proposal for their group to scout Cloakwood and then send a message to her when the time came to attack the main bandit camp. So the group set out back north, to the dangerous, mysterious and – a point especially important to Imoen, - wyvern-infested Cloakwood.

Jaheira was glad to have Bill off her hands, at least. Theoretically, her young charge's unwillingness to kill a possibly innocent (although the druid did not believe that for a second in this bandit's case) man was commendable and went with what her foster father and Jaheira's dear friend believed in. In real life, however, she'd come to learn that such mercy more often than not proved too dangerous and interfered with what must be done. But Estel was finally beginning to step up, to defend her morals and come up with her own plans. She must be allowed to do so, and to make mistakes, otherwise she would never learn. Gorion, she knew, used to share this opinion, and yet had chosen to coddle his child and fill her head with illusions of an ideal world where there was always an alternative to killing. Was he hoping she'd spend her entire life in the safety of the monastery, never having to face the real world?

"You l-look troubled, d-dear," the ever-attentive Khalid at her side remarked, looking with worry into her face. Jaheira sighed and looked back at Estel and Imoen. The girls were engaged in a lively discussion, as they often were when the group was making their way to yet another destination.

"I'm worried about the way Gorion chose to bring up Estel," she finally said. "She left Candlekeep completely unprepared for real life."

"W-we talked about it…" her husband began.

"Yes, I know," the druid rubbed her forehead. "I keep thinking how I'd do it differently if she were my child."

"P-parents always hope that their ch-children live well and s-safely," Khalid smiled.

"And to accomplish that I'd make sure my child knows how the real world works and…" Jaheira stopped herself, suddenly aware of the dreamy way her husband smiled. It was always painfully obvious how deeply shaken his capture and subsequent horrors he had to endure left this brave man. And she knew that the best thing for him was to settle down, live a simple and honest life that would help him forget all he'd been through… start a family. He continued this dangerous life on the road only because he loved her and never would let her face all this alone. But now and then he would carefully approach the subject, only to drop it at the first sign of her displeasure. She couldn't leave the Harpers, not yet at least. There was too much she still had to do, too much no one else would do in her stead.

"M-maybe s-some d-d-day we w-will f-f-find out," Khalid tried to say nonchalantly, but as always his stuttering grew worse the more nervous he became.

"Maybe we will," Jaheira forced a smile. "But right now there is an iron crisis that won't resolve itself."

"Of course, d-dear," Khalid nodded. _There always is_, he finished in his mind bitterly.

* * *

><p><p>

Back in Beregost, night was falling. There wasn't much change in the amount of light the small dirty window let through, but the change was noticeable in the way guards were beginning to nod off over their card game. There were two of them guarding the little cowering man some band of adventurers brought in. None of them were happy about that.

"I'm just saying, if we wanted us some living bandit to interrogate, we would've gotten him, and closer too," one of the guards complained. "Instead some floppy-ears drag one from Larswood."

"And he's not even a proper bandit, this one," the other one sneered. "What's so important about this little sniveling piece of shit, that he needs two Flaming Fists to guard him?"

"Vai thinks he might know something else about the main bandit camp," the first one looked thoughtfully at the miserable man in the cell. Bill was sitting in the far corner. When he caught the guard's look on him, he tried to edge further away, ending up with his back pressed so tightly against the wall he made an impression of trying to filter through it to freedom. So far, it wasn't working.

"Yeah, as if someone like him would know anything," the second guard turned his attention back to the cards.

"Um…" came from the cell after a while.

"What do you want?" the first guard snapped, and Bill recoiled again.

"I really hate to be a bother, but… I really need some water. Please?" he tried. "Only the guard who brought dinner spilled water, and no one gave me any since then."

The guards looked at each other.

"You lost the last game," the second guard reminded the first.

"Blast it. Fine, but don't you dare look at my cards," the first one filled an earthen mug with water and walked over to the prisoner.

"Oh, thank you so very much," Bill took the mug and drank greedily. "You've no idea how reviving a little water can be. I wish I could thank you properly, by sparing your life for example. But alas, that is impossible," as he spoke, his voice gradually lost all cowardly tones of Bill the Bandit. The guard only looked at him with glassy eyes, slowly sliding to the floor along rods of the cage. "And that is a moot point now anyway."

The second guard shoved the body aside and was busy unlocking the cage. Tranzig looked thoughtfully at the puddle of blood that was beginning to collect at the cell door from the wound in the fallen guard's back. It would not do to step into in accidentally and leave a bloody trail.

"Quickly," the surviving guard motioned for him to step out and shoved a bloodied sword into his hand. "You have two hours before our shift's ended, after that we'll be looking all over Beregost for you, so you'd better get out of town."

"I have no intention of sticking around, believe me," Tranzig walked out of the cell. "I have important news to be delivered to Sarevok personally."

"Then take this money, it'll buy you a horse," the guard threw his purse into the spy's hand.

"There is one more thing," Tranzig smiled thinly.

"Yes. Do it quickly," the guard did not resist when the pommel of the sword hit him on the back of the head.

Tranzig stayed for a minute more to arrange the bodies into a clear picture of escape assisted from the outside, and then slipped out into the night. Once outside, he had no trouble blending with the locals. He never did, his unremarkable appearance was a gift he treasured. Soon, he was on his way to Baldur's Gate with the news of Estel of Candlekeep alive and traveling with the band of adventurers behind the Nashkel fiasco. Sarevok himself would no doubt find useful the details of her disguise and her intentions. This kind of discovery was well worth the minor setback in Larswood.


	16. Into the Web

Cloakwood sneaked up on them imperceptibly. It seemed, one moment they were walking along a clear forest path winding through the undergrowth. Morning sun shone brightly through the yellowing leaves, and in the cold transparent air of early autumn it looked as if the trees were on fire. Then, suddenly, came realization that it was no longer so, although none of them would be able to pinpoint the moment when their surroundings changed so dramatically. Stale, stifling air heavy with the smell of damp rotting leaves pressed down on them. Sunlight, trapped in the intertwining crowns of old, very old trees, could do little to dispel the gloom underneath.

Shimmering mist hung in the unmoving air, colored in eerie shades by glowing moss. This strange light disoriented the less forest-inclined members of their group further, creating shadows where shadows should not be.

But it wasn't silent. Somewhere beyond the mist there was constant movement of a living forest: various forest creatures scurried around on their own business - said business hopefully not involving dinner made of hapless adventurers, - contributing to the cacophony of creaks, snaps, chirring, hooting, howling and other sounds one grew used to put down as normal forest background noise. Except in that damp mist the sounds seemed to come from everywhere at once. There was no sense of direction, only the constant feeling of watchful eyes on their back. Imagination obligingly shaped out of the mist a lithe figure of a crouched predator ready to jump.

The party huddled together to further annoyance of Jaheira, although even she seemed slightly on edge. The only one unaffected was Kivan. The elven ranger walked ahead of them, ever vigilant but seemingly unfazed. He said he came from the elven forest called Shilmista. Estel knew that it meant the Forest of Shadows, but she, raised among Common-speaking humans as she was, couldn't help hearing 'mist' in Shilmista. Was it the same there, all ancient trees, mysterious noises and shimmering mists? Did this feel like home for him? Estel herself remembered the stone walls of the library wistfully.

"Take care not to touch the webs," Kivan said in his quiet hoarse voice, causing Estel to look around frantically and of course nearly fall onto the long silvery string going off into the forest. Moisture gathered on it in large drops that reflected the ghostly light emanated by the plants, making it at least noticeable, but not, by any stretch of imagination, beautiful. Not at all. Never.

"We may not be able to avoid them further into the forest," Jaheira remarked.

"No, but it would be best to avoid alarming them for as long as possible." The ranger slowed to allow himself to notice the thin strands before walking into them.

"Alarming who?" Imoen asked.

"Giant spiders who feel the slightest vibrations in their web," Estel clarified in the strained voice. Her back itched where she couldn't reach it. It always did when she thought of eight hairy legs climbing deftly on any surface, eight disgusting unmoving eyes, chelicerae full of vicious poisons… Her ears – or hopefully her imagination, - picked out the characteristic rustling of eight legs moving fast beyond the mist.

The further they went into the forest, the more silvery strands stretched between the trees and the quieter it became. The usual sounds of a busy forest soon stayed behind; its inhabitants knew better than to wander into the realm of spiders. But that was where the path was leading, and straying from it would only disturb the web and raise the alarm. Estel felt herded.

"Are they… intelligent?" she asked in an urgent whisper.

"They shouldn't be," Jaheira frowned. The way the path they were following was the only space clear of webbing bothered her as well. "No more intelligent than normal spiders, only bigger."

"Maybe the bandits placed some kind of enchantment on this path so that they could move freely through the forest?" Imoen suggested just as quietly. She didn't know whether spiders had good hearing, but she wasn't willing to risk it.

"Unlikely," Xan looked noticeably miserable. That is, more miserable than his normal miserable. Estel supposed that this forest was almost as strange to him, a moon elf, as it was to her. "But it is difficult to tell, this place is…disorienting, full of raw magic," the mage looked around and shivered. "I don't think we're getting out of here alive."

"Dear old Xan, always there to boost morale," Imoen clapped him heartily on a shoulder.

Soon the path led them into a small clearing. The surrounding trees were shrouded in web so thoroughly that they appeared to be covered in snow. Cold dread spread from Estel's stomach, freezing her to the spot when shadows – eight-legged shadows, - scuttled beyond the edges of the clearing and across the path behind them. Soon, shining black beads of eyes were looking at them from every direction with what was, if Estel was any judge, hunger.

The rest of their group, not as concentrated on spiders as she was, were looking at the center of the clearing. A creature sat there, looking at them with gleeful malice. Its bloated body was so deformed and ugly, that it was impossible to guess its race, or even its gender. Hairless, distorted little head seemed to attach directly to the shoulders without any neck at all. Two useless short legs poked out from under the folds of its belly – if it ever moved at all, it was probably carried around by spiders it had somehow ensnared into its service.

"Freshhh meat, my pets!" it cooed in a shrill voice that seemed to indicate that the creature was, after all, female.

"Wait!" Imoen stepped forward. She often had to clear out the spiders from Winthrop's cellars; these were just a little bigger, right? "We've come here to… yes, to benefit from your infinite wisdom! We've heard rumors about you living here, in the heart of Cloakwood, and we instantly knew we had to… to set out on pilgrimage here…"

The surrounding spiders that were about to spring on them paused, obedient to the will of the pitiful creature in the center of the clearing.

"Ssspeak quickly then," it conceded majestically.

"Keep it talking," Xan murmured to Imoen, looking around him. "If anything, it delays our impending death. There's something about… her…"

"How did you come to dwell here?" Imoen raked round her mind for something to ask that wouldn't bring the creature's wrath upon them, but couldn't find anything better.

"Curssssed!" the creature suddenly shrieked loudly, no longer appeased by Imoen's flattery. "Jon Irenicusss, my love… Oh how I hate him…. How I hate you!" Spiders started to make their way to them again, and adventurers huddled together, weapons drawn.

"Wait! If it's a curse that made you this way, perhaps we can unmake it!" Xan offered frantically. The spiders paused again and the mage breathed out in relief, even then realizing how premature that was. He could feel the magic in this creature, but Cloakwood itself was full of magic, it was like trying to see something in murky water.

"Jon, my Jon is a mage of terrible power," the creature hung its head, suddenly changing its mood from vengefulness to ultimate defeat. "And I loved him ssso much. But he had eyesss only for her, that elven wench!" the creature's hateful eyes stopped briefly on Estel. "She wouldn't have him, ssso he wasss trying to shape a new one that looked like her, but would love him. But I wasss beautiful, sssso much more beautiful than her!"

"You mean he tried to make a… a golem or something?" Imoen asked, her fascination by magic temporarily overpowering fear of imminent death by being torn apart by giant spiders.

"No, ssstupid girl! A living breathhhing copy!" the creature smiled horribly at the memory. "And I desstroyed her."

"He didn't take it well, huh?" Imoen tried to keep the creature talking.

"He ssseemed to warm up to me when that wretched thhhing was gone," it said ruefully. "I lowered my defenssses, he disabled me with his magic, curssssed me and sssent me here!"

"Ah, love, that greatest of dangers," Xan sighed, and then light dawned, although sadly it was the metaphorical kind. He could really do with some warm sunlight. "But this curse of yours is a simple illusion, and I could dispel it in an instant, if you wish."

"You… could?" the possibility of release from this wretched existence took the creature by complete surprise. "You… would?"

"Would that make you happy?" Xan sighed. He could imagine how hard it was to live like that, but judging by the story just told the woman's problems wouldn't be solved with the return of normal appearance. It almost seemed like a cruel idea now to remind her of normal life, but they needed to get out of this spider nest.

"Oh please, my lord…" it almost whispered in a tearful voice that made Imoen truly feel sorry for it. It must've been horrible to find oneself trapped in this ugly body, surrounded by spiders in a haunted forest.

It took Xan two attempts to get the counter spell right, mostly because being surrounded by bloodthirsty giant spiders controlled by a maddened rejected woman wasn't doing much for his concentration. But soon in place of the monster stood a woman covered only by her long hair. She took a moment expecting her new body in wonder.

"I am… beautiful," she concluded breathlessly and looked up at her savior. The elf was prepared for her to throw herself at him in gratitude and was already planning the rout to hide behind Imoen if that were the case, but he wasn't prepared for the woman's expression to become one of cold, calculating fury. "And now, to my revenge. He will pay for every second I had to endure in that horrible form. Every. Second." With those final words she made a few passes with her hands and the amulet that was her only clothing lit up, engulfing her in white light. When it faded, she was gone.

"Another good deed that did not go unpunished," Xan sighed.

"Uh… so what was supposed to happen to all the spiders when you dispelled that illusion?" Estel asked carefully, drawing Xan's attention to all the black beady eyes still looking at them.

"I… honestly did not think about that," the mage admitted.

Free of the guiding mind that held them from attacking, spiders seemed bewildered. They did not attack yet, but there was no doubt they would pounce on the food that had so conveniently wandered right into their lair as soon as they regained their senses.

"Move," Jaheira said quietly, noticing a path on the opposite side of the clearing. The group set off, trying not to make any sudden movements and watching the recovering spiders attentively. They were at the edge of the clearing when the first ones caught up to them. "Keep going, don't let them surround us!" the druid commanded, hitting the closest spider with her staff. There was a distinct crunch of chitin.

Xan was rattling off spells with a wildly panicked expression on his face, but absolute precision nonetheless. Fire spells wouldn't do in a forest, not for an elf, so he had restricted himself to paralyzing spiders in every way he knew and letting the others finish them off. Imoen was hacking at them with a grin. Deprived of a singular malicious intelligence, spiders crowded at first at the bottleneck created by the path, giving the adventurers a few precious minutes to thin their numbers. But eventually Estel, who up until then had a perfectly legitimate reason to stay away from the spiders, as the path was too narrow for all of them to fight at once, spotted a smaller spider coming down the tree trunk. She raised her bow, hands shaking violently. Thankfully, the arrow disappeared between the trees instead of hitting one of her friends. Kivan impaled the spider on his dagger and threw a worried glance at Estel.

More spiders were now coming their way from both sides. There wasn't much she could do now to avoid fighting, short of running away. A fracture of her mind not taken by fear reasoned that trying to run away would mean certain death at this point. Estel took out her sword and lunged at the closest spider in a kind of frenzy that comes from mind-numbing fear. She didn't have much recollection of what happened next. At some point somebody grabbed her from behind, stopping her from going after remaining spiders that were retreating into the forest. Someone else caught her sword arm while she tried to cut the one who was holding her and took the sword away. She caught sight of extremely pale and ready to faint Xan who was muttering something about being out of spells and how they were all going to die now. Imoen, covered in ichor, helped him stay upright.

"Estel!" Jaheira's face filled her vision. The druid grabbed the elf's shoulders and shook her. "Snap out of it, they're gone! We need to get to safety."

"Gone?" Estel repeated weakly. Suddenly she felt like she would collapse if it wasn't for someone still holding her from behind.

"Yes. You fought valiantly, mellonamin," said Kivan's voice behind her. At least now she knew who was holding her and it wasn't a spider, which was nice. "And now we need to go."

"Need sword," Estel muttered.

"H-here," Khalid put the sword back into her hand. "C-can you walk?"


	17. The Spirit

They saved a – relatively, - innocent woman from a terrible curse. They faced a horde of giant spiders and made them run. They'd won the day. But somehow the atmosphere in the camp didn't seem like one befitting victorious heroes. Cloakwood pressed down on them. It was difficult to imagine how the bandits could make any permanent kind of base here. This was a place of wild ancient magic and mythical fears, not of something as civilized as banditry. Even Imoen's spirit was dampened somewhat by the overbearing aura of the forest. She was also without her usual watch partner and teasing victim, as Xan made it quite clear that if he didn't get a full night's rest they didn't get a mage. She tried half-heartedly to make fun of Khalid, but it just didn't seem to work.

But the one who felt the most down was Estel. The unpleasant encounter with her greatest fear – or second greatest after the horned monster that killed Gorion... no, third, counting the fear of killing an innocent... well, still one of the top ten, anyway, - was only part of the problem. Estel had the bronze skin of a wood elf, and yet the wilderness, especially this ancient, powerful kind, frightened her. She felt like an unwanted outsider here – and she actually was one. Every time the group was forced to plow their way through a forest or make camp under open skies (which was the case most of the times, insured by Jaheira's presence), the elf became painfully aware of the unbreachable gap that lay between her and her kin. Elves were wonderful and strange to her, like they were to any human. This forest with its glowing plants, ancient column-like trees and otherwordly monsters was strange and terrifying. Even Xan with his constant state of brooding was more elven than she could ever hope to become. Being a Moonblade wielder he was more than just an elf, he was part of a legend. A defender of Elvendom, chosen by the ancient blade of elven kings to carry out the duty that could never be abandoned and would never be lifted off him. To the last breath and beyond. How must it feel to be such an integral part of the People?

An owl hooted somewhere nearby and Estel nearly dropped her plate. In a forest something always scurried around in the dark and something was always watching you. It probably wasn't that different from a city at that, except in a city you could be almost certain that whoever it was watching you, they probably weren't sizing you up for their dinner plate. Probably. Estel never was in a city, so she couldn't be sure.

"Walk with me, mellonamin," Kivan broke the silence suddenly and Estel looked up at him, taken by surprise. She wasn't the only one. Dinner was unusually quiet tonight, and the ranger's offer was noticed by everyone. Imoen's smile slowly widened to the point when Estel had to throw her friend a warning glance, if only to keep the top of her head from sliding off. Jaheira frowned.

"Don't wander off too far."

"We will be nearby," Kivan promised and looked expectantly at Estel.

"Alright," she agreed hesitantly. Kivan never spoke unless he had something to say. It was a habit she sometimes wished Imoen would take to. He'd never wanted to talk to her in private before.

They did not walk for long before he started speaking. "Do you still feel uncomfortable in the woods?"

"A month ago I lived in a library fortress," Estel shrugged.

"And you never went outside, into the surrounding forests?"

"Imoen sometimes tried to convince me to escape for a while to have an adventure," she snorted at the memory. "Some passerby convinced her that there was a dragon cave in the hills to the east. But we never did. It would upset father too much."

"I see," Kivan said thoughtfully.

"He was a good man. A great man," Estel bristled. It was no secret to her that Jaheira disapproved of the way Gorion brought her up. She often felt that her lack of any substantial real-life experience outside the world of cataloging hampered their progress, but she'd never let anyone speak ill of Gorion. "He did his best to properly bring up a child that wasn't even his own race."

The best he knew how. He couldn't teach her things that were alien to him, like the mysterious connection elves shared with each other and with the world around them. It was something beyond his understanding, and so became something beyond Estel's understanding.

"You've come a long way since leaving Candlekeep, Estel."

"But not nearly long enough," she replied bitterly. "Gorion's murderer is still out there, and all I can do is hide from him while my father's body remains forgotten where he was struck down."

"Do not poison your life by revenge, mellonamin," Kivan said, making Estel stare at him in disbelief.

"Said someone who claims to live only for it."

"There is still much for you to live for. All that remains for me is the vow I made to avenge my Deheriana and the promise that she waits for me in Arvaneith," Kivan looked sideways at his younger friend and exhaled slowly, somewhat desperate that this conversation had strayed far from the course he intended. He spent too many years alone, hunting Tazok, and even before that he did not have the same way with words Deheriana did. She would know what to say to comfort young Estel and teach her the ways of the People. Bitter pain clutched his heart at the memory of his beloved. She was a healer, his Deheriana, in so many ways more than just mending wounds of the flesh. "I do not think your father intended for you to waste your life seeking revenge for his death. From the way you speak of him, he did his best to teach you the value of life and mercy. You are Estel'ho, his Hope."

"I wish he'd told me what he hoped for exactly," Estel sighed. "But that would make me Amdir, right?"

"It might," Kivan gave one of his nearly unnoticeable smiles to her grasp of the language of their people. "But he named you Estel, that unwavering kind of hope that leads people through every hardship, never letting them fall into despair or lose sight of their goal. Perhaps this is what he meant."

"That's a lot of pressure." The young elf sounded doubtful. "Maybe he just looked through an elven dictionary to find a nice word that sounded well as a girl's name."

"Except it's a boy's name." Kivan's hand on her shoulder made Estel stop and look around. They weren't that far from the camp. It appeared they were simply walking around it talking. For Kivan's part, he did not need a specific place for what he had in mind.

"Yes, thanks for that, that's perfect," Estel rolled her eyes, but could not conceal a smile. That definitely sounded like father. She looked around, trying to understand why Kivan had brought her there. There was nothing but Cloakwood around them. Ancient trees towered above their heads, twisted roots, each as thick as an average tree, crept under their feet, hidden by the layer of foliage and moss, but still quite bothersome for anyone absentminded enough not to look where they were going. Ghostly tendrils of fog extended towards them, as if trying to grab and lead them off the path, into the gloom full of strange noises.

"I wanted to show you this place." Kivan stepped behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.

"It's... Cloakwood," Estel said with doubt. She realized that her answer demonstrated wonders of geographical awareness, but there was really little else she could say.

"You need to really look," the ranger insisted. "We walked so that your eyes forgot the blinding light of the fire. Now you need to forget in the same way the fear that blinds your spirit to this forest."

"What if something attacks us while we're alone here?" Estel fought to suppress the shudder. Could spiders track escaped prey?

"I will protect you. If something approaches, I will sense it long before it can attack us. You are safe." His voice, low and hoarse, was full of simple, straightforward confidence. He wasn't trying to convince her, he was informing her of their circumstances. And it was working. His voice, his warmth against her back, his steady hands on her shoulders were enveloping her in a bubble of safety that nothing could breach. A vision of the room at the top of the mage's tower where Gorion showed her constellations flashed in her mind for one faltering moment. How safe she used to feel there...

Kivan did his best to not let any doubt into his mind. She needed to believe in him there and then. She did not need to be reminded of how he had once so terribly failed the one he promised to protect always. Neither did he. The knowledge of his failure was always with him, but that one time, for a short time, he had to forget it for the sake of the lonely child that had no one but a broken man bent on revenge to show her the Spirit.

"Do not feel a stranger in this forest. You are part of it, just as it is part of you. Every blade of grass you walk on, every little creature that pauses and looks at you in wonder as you pass," he spoke quietly, but firmly. "We are all connected, none of us is ever truly alone. Calm your fears, let your senses extend into the world, and you will truly see."

His words promised wonders that all the books in elven lore could only hint at, but he was speaking of something real, something that came to him as naturally as breathing. Something no book could teach. Mellowed by his warmth and his calm confidence, Estel no longer felt the need to ward herself against the world. Slowly, subtly, the world began to change. Except the world stayed the same, it was her perspective that shifted. The glowing moss that drove away the gloom under the trees was making the scene before her into something that came straight out of a fairytale. It seemed foolish now that something so magical had scared her the first time. A squirrel scampered down a tree trunk and froze for a moment, looking at the two elves with its beady eyes. Estel could swear she saw curiosity flicker in the creature's eyes and then fade as the squirrel had written them into the normal picture of the forest and continued with its business.

Fallen leaves rustled far to the left as something ran past them, and Estel's focus shifted. She sensed the hunger of the wolf and its extreme concentration on the fleeing prey. It ran and the wolf chased – it did not need to complicate its world by anything outside this chase. One by one she realized she could single out the creatures around her and feel their intentions. The forest was full of life. Even the trees themselves were alive in their own way. There was something unifying it all, like the universal heartbeat. It connected everything, the trees, the smallest insects and the largest predators into single existence so vast and wondrous that she could not hope to completely comprehend it, but she did not need to, it just... was. She was within it, and so was Kivan.

Somehow the warmth of his touch was more than that. His presence wove itself into the forest and at times it was difficult to see where he ended and the forest began. He was the fire of autumn leaves and the cold, crystal-clear forest stream. He was the painful longing for lost love and the burning desire for revenge. He was the maddened wounded animal and the fiercely protective alpha. The jumbled mixture of feelings, senses and images focused into the single most powerful memory that was the center of his existence and its driving force. Through the link of communion Estel _remembered_ the broken slender form mercifully covered by red and golden leaves blazing in the sun like burial fire. The face, the most beautiful face there ever was, was covered in dark congealing blood. Her eyes, she knew, were once the green so deep that the greenest leaves seemed gray in comparison. But now those eyes, bleak and lifeless, stared into the cold blue sky with inexplicable peace. Estel felt the pain so raw, the guilt so severe that she wanted to scream and beg those eyes for forgiveness. In that moment she knew him better than any words could ever teach her, no matter how long and sincere the conversations.

Kivan felt Estel's spirit tentatively reach out into the world. He smiled as he sensed it try everything around them like a curious child would. When she reached for him, he was struck by realization that he'd never seen a spirit quite like hers. It was impossibly bright, shining like a beacon in the night, almost vibrating with power she did not even realize she possessed. Marveling, he felt too late that she was already past his defenses before he could raise them. He knew what she would find there, and he did not wish for her to ever experience that, but the connection worked both ways and, even as he prepared to gently push her away, he felt something else in her. It was so different from anything he expected, that the ranger recoiled instinctively, leaving shocked Estel gasping for air.

She turned to him and her face glistened with tears. "I'm so sorry," she rasped, certain that her intrusion into his privacy was the reason for him cutting her off. "I didn't mean to, it just happened."

"It's... alright," he managed, staring at her. "I am sorry, mellonamin, I am perhaps not the best elf for the sharing of spirits. I did not mean to burden you with my pain."

"N-no," Estel wiped the tears off with her sleeve. She looked up at him with extreme seriousness. "I don't think I fully understood before what Tazok did to you and Deheriana. I'm so sorry." She embraced him tightly and mumbled into his shoulder. "I promise to you, we will find him and he will answer for everything."

Kivan stroke her hair absently, still thinking of what he saw when their spirits touched. There, beneath the almost divine brightness of her spirit, some kind of dark growth spread its tendrils deep into her core. It was so tightly intertwined with Estel's wonderful elven spirit, that he did not consider it a part of her only because he fiercely wished for it to not be so. He did not know what it was and whether it was aware of him. He would have to speak with Jaheira. Perhaps, as Estel's guardian and her father's friend, she knew something that he did not. Together they would find a way to destroy it.


	18. Almost Dragon Riders

Sarevok was indeed quite pleased. Against all odds, she had survived. He recalled to himself the image of the slight of a girl from the time he visited the Library. Tranzig's description was that of a fierce warrior. Of course, it was to be expected that the blood would out. And yet, it did not in all those other worthless slugs he slaughtered with no effort. But she had persevered. Even more, by Tranzig's account she seemed to be in charge of the troublesome little Harper group that kept pestering the Iron Throne operations.

It meant, of course, that she was trouble that needed to be dealt with. Assassination contracts needed to be revised with the new description, the camp in Cloakwood reinforced, those Zhentarim dupes manipulated accordingly… But Sarevok couldn't help feeling the twinge of excitement for the first time in a long while. This was something that he should be doing instead of trying to hold together the Iron Throne leaders who were about to lose their nerve or making nice with the Dukes. He should be out there, hunting her, instead of playing politics. Still, there was certain excitement to be drawn from testing her against everything he could throw at her. Eventually, in the midst of bloody war fueled by their combined efforts, she would find him herself. And if she perished before that, she was simply not worthy of her blood.

"You are too happy with the news of your enemy surviving," Tamoko said with that worried frown he'd come to know and hate. She was looking at him carefully, as if watching for signs of madness. He knew that look as well. It made him furious that this woman, the woman he loved, doubted his destiny more than anybody else did.

"She will be dealt with, don't worry," Sarevok stroke her cheek, trying to calm his anger. Tamoko closed her eyes and leaned into the caress, but still there was that tension between her brows. Unconvinced, then.

She opened her eyes and looked intently at him. "You're not deep enough in this to be unable to turn back, we can still walk away," she pleaded quietly. "Just let your father get on with his plan."

Sarevok lowered his hand and turned away abruptly, not trusting himself to even look at her at that moment. "That… _man_ is not my father," he growled.

"I know," Tamoko said softly, tentatively putting a hand on his forearm. Sarevok tensed. She used to sooth his anger at the world, but not anymore. It simply wasn't enough anymore. He would claim his destiny and all his enemies would be crushed. Starting with the man who called himself his father. And if she were against it, well… he would just have to find a more compliant lover from the legions that would worship him.

* * *

><p>One can become accustomed to anything given sufficient time, and after a while even the strange and dangerous Cloakwood had begun to seem normal. Estel wondered if, suddenly taken out from under the shade of ancient trees, they wouldn't find sunlight garish, unnatural, and wish instead to continue finding their way by the faint glow of fluorescent moss under their feet. It was, perhaps, in the nature of any living being to become bored with fear after a while in order to free space in their heads for the wonders of the world around them – and then even those would become part of the background. They no longer stopped to marvel at the way their footprints remained a glowing path in the undergrowth behind them, the moss flaring up under their feet. Mysterious creatures creeping, scuttling, scurrying in the persistent fog arose little curiosity or fear.<p>

Imoen in particular, the only pure-blooded human among them, found herself unexpectedly at ease in the forest. Part of it could be attributed to her resolution to make best of whatever situation she found herself in, but mostly it was because here, in this ancient place of power, the air itself seemed to be seeping with raw magic. The simple spells Xan was teaching her came effortlessly to her here. Except, of course, the fire spells he had strictly forbidden her from using in a forest, no matter how careful she was. A shame, really, those would've worked wonders against wild animals and especially those spiders, but that's what you got when traveling with elves. Even their campfire was set up in the way wood elves of Shilmista made them to avoid forest fires.

So it happened that, when the towering trees slowly began giving way to the onslaught of hills and patches of half-forgotten sky were starting to show between the crowns, the adventurers could scarcely believe that they had spent only a few days scouting in the thickets. It felt like a whole other life.

"Have we walked all the way through it, then?" Imoen asked while peering over Estel's shoulder at the map the elf was studying.

"No," Estel tapped the durable parchment, pointing out their approximate location. Cloakwood, once largely a blank spot on this map father had left her, was now full of notes and lines made by her hand – the northern part of it, anyway. It did not seem all that big on the map of the entire region, but they had only scouted about half of it and still had seen no signs of a bandit camp aside from one long abandoned and almost consumed by vegetation. Perhaps, when all this was over, she could present the Keeper of Tomes with the updated and detailed maps of the places they visited. Even torn away from the Library as she was, the elf still felt an obligation if not to protect the knowledge stored there, then at least contribute to it.

"Get down!" a vaguely familiar voice shouted, echoed immediately by Kivan's hoarse one. Imoen and Estel, still holding the map and looking around for the source of the voice, were knocked off their feet by Jaheira and, as a follow up, pressed down by what appeared to be a gush of rogue downward wind that followed a sound like a snap of leather. With another snap a large wyvern shot upwards, avoiding arrows sent by Kivan and the mysterious hunter, and apparently deemed them not worth the effort.

None of the girls even thought of brushing off after getting up. Imoen was staring at the retreating form of the wyvern, her mouth gaping in wonder. Estel was urgently checking her precious map for any signs of damage after being trampled. The hunter rushed past them in the wyvern's direction, all green blur. At the edge of the cliff he paused and looked back at them with exasperation. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he threw his hands up. "It's going back to its lair!"

It wasn't exactly clear to them afterwards why they all took off after the hunter without questioning. Perhaps it was because Imoen, inspired by the mention of "lair" in the context of anything big and scaly, hurried after the hunter. Or maybe they all followed Estel, - she was, after all, the one with the map, - who ran after Imoen, assuring her and possibly the entire forest by the volume of her agitated voice, that wyverns did not, as a matter of fact, hoard treasures. What they did hoard were the rotting remains of their dinners – something that became quite noticeable in the air as they neared the dark mouth of a cave otherwise nearly hidden by the trees. Most likely the reason for their running after the mysterious hunter was simply that they were – with the possible exception of Kivan who had been doing that for years, - sick and tired of combing the forest for the bandit camp, never seeing another soul, and were eager to do something foolish and exciting for a change.

Jaheira's patience with foolishness was thin at best days, however, and so she grabbed the hunter's shoulder, stopping him and demanding explanation. At closer examination he turned out to be an elf dressed conscientiously into all kinds of concealing greens and browns as well as having green paint cover his fair skin, applied in a way of carnival mask that looked ridiculous and intimidating at the same time. The combined effect allowed him to blend with the forest as well as Kivan did. The ease with which he made his way across the rugged terrain betrayed a lifetime of experience.

He also looked somehow familiar.

"Why are you hunting these wyverns?" Jaheira asked, punctuating each word. A druid through and through, she despised senseless slaughter by the hunters of glory and riches.

"Ah," the elf put a finger to his lips in a universal gesture. Then he continued quietly. "The temple not far from Beregost pays quite the hefty sum for wyvern head, as it happens." Completely unperturbed by Jaheira's disapproving frown, he shrugged. "The reason being that the wyverns are prone to stealing live stock as well as occasional child from nearby villages."

The druid's eyes wandered to the cave. It was true that some animals – wolves and wyverns among the most known, - would sometimes prey on small children if they presented an easy target when irresponsible parents let them wander unprotected too close to the edge of the forest. Shadow druids would argue that it was entirely the humans' fault for setting up their villages in the wilds, intruding upon the lands that belonged to animals, for cutting down trees and hunting too much, depriving the predators of their usual prey and thus forcing them to seek food elsewhere. They would say the answer was to force the people out, not kill animals that only did what their nature commanded them.

"You're Coran!" Imoen stepped forward, finally placing the elf's voice. He did not look much like that well-groomed playful young man she met in a tavern a while ago. No, he looked decisively dangerous. And Jaheira thought he wasn't capable of wyvern-hunting. Showed what she knew.

"And you are the unforgettable Imoen the Quick!" Coral took the girl's hand with a flourish. "I have to say, the life of adventure truly becomes you."

Imoen beamed at the praise. Well, she really was having an adventure, wasn't she? It wasn't just hunting rats in the tavern basement like in the old days; it was the right and proper _adventure_. Even if it started out somewhat slow with mines and kobolds.

"So do you have a plan, or do we just come inside and get stung to death?" Estel rolled her eyes.

"Well, sweetling," Coran turned to her, smiling disarmingly. "Wyverns are not exceptionally bright and they cannot take flight inside a cave, so all we really have to do is avoid its tail and its teeth."

"Oh, of course. Nothing to worry about," Xan muttered sourly. "Why is it that we _actively_ search for a new and exciting way to die, when we have so many already on our current quest?"

"Where is your adventurous spirit, friend?" Coran flashed him a grin, to be rewarded with a scowl from the mage and an echoing growl from the inside of the cave. "I don't think we have time to think up something else. It seems to have a mind to come out, and we don't want it flying."

Inside the cave the stench of rotting flesh was overwhelming. Bones were scattered on the floor, some of them humanoid. Some of them disturbingly small _and_ humanoid. It was probably better not to look down if you felt that you stepped into something in case you saw what it was.

The wyvern was crouched by the far wall, growling and waving its stingy tail almost like an angry cat, if you could imagine a cat that was big, scaly and winged with a tail that bended only upwards and had a hooky sting on its end. To Estel it looked scared and unsure what to do. She exchanged glances with Imoen, seeing the same doubt in her friend's eyes. They didn't have time to ponder that, however, because the next moment it pounced.

Their time in Cloakwood was well spent learning to act better as a team, anticipating one another's actions and basing the next move on them. Xan, standing as far out of the wyvern's reach as possible, was hastily casting the spell that would immobilize it, while the more hands-on fighters were distracting it and trying not to get stung or have a chunk of them bitten off. Bones crunched under her feet and something splashed as Estel danced under the wyvern's jaws, hoping her foot wouldn't get stuck in something unmentionable. It was important not to miss the moment Xan was ready with his spell, lest it hit them instead.

Avoiding the wyvern's sting turned out to be surprisingly easy. Whichever careless god had designed this creature had clearly given no thought to how it would use a tail resembling that of a scorpion without pincers or even strong front limbs to lift the prey up to the sting as scorpions did. It appeared largely useless, unless one considered bigger sharks of the sky that could descend upon a wyvern from above. Did dragons hunt wyverns at all? Estel did not remember reading anything about that and wasn't in any position to ponder. One thing was certain, though: those Zhentarim mages certainly had the stones of diamond if they chose to ride the creatures, placing themselves exactly in the only place their deadly sting could reach.

Of course, they still had to avoid having their head bitten off, and that was bad enough. Nevertheless, it was over before long. Coran set to cutting the creature's head off as proof of the deed, while Estel and Imoen, feeling queasy, sidled away to explore the rest of the cave.

"Don't wander off, there might be others," Jaheira warned them.

"They would've joined us by now, don't you think?" Imoen shrugged. "Besides, there are just a few small nicks and not much else."

They found it soon enough, the nest hidden in a small alcove. Two large eggs poked out of the various wrappings that supposedly kept them warm. Imoen knelt by them and tentatively touched one, yanking her hand away immediately after she felt a movement inside.

"Do you suppose she was protecting her kids?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know, maybe there wasn't enough food," Estel crouched nearby. "But she was dangerous all the same. She ate people."

"Maybe we should keep them," Imoen poked her, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "Imoen and Estel, the Dragon Riders!"

"Wyvern."

"Details," Imoen waved her hand dismissively.

"I don't think we can. We don't know how to care for them, and anyway it's not like we can carry them around all the time while we're traveling," Estel looked back to see if anyone followed them. "Besides, that Coran guy would probably insist on killing them to get more money."

"He seems so nice," Imoen murmured dreamily. Then she sighed, accepting the argument. "We can't just leave them here, though."

"I don't see what we can do for them aside from leaving them alone. Come on," Estel stood up.

Apparently, the rest of their party was questioning Coran while they were gone.

"Well, no wonder you didn't. You came into the forest from the wrong side, and besides, I've been here for weeks," the elf shrugged. "So I keep away from that part of the forest. No wyverns there, anyway."

"Can you show us the way?" Kivan asked intently, probably not for the first time.

"I could…" Coran looked with doubt at the leather sack he used to transport wyvern head. "But I do need to bring it to Beregost before in starts to smell. Worse than it does already, at least."

"Wait, you know where the bandit camp is?" Estel moved closer to them.

"That I do, sweetling," the elf grinned. "Have_ you_ found anything interesting?"

"No hoards of treasure here," Imoen winced. She didn't need to fake disappointment, but nobody needed to know what she was disappointed about.

"I see. Shall we be off then?"


	19. Not as Planned

It would be colossal understatement to say that the atmosphere in their camp was tense. Kivan, finally within reach of his enemy but unable to attack until reinforcements arrived, was restless like a caged wolf, ready to lash out at the first sign of an opening. Estel did not know whether he still had the presence of mind to understand that he could not possibly get to Tazok alone. The grim look of warning Jaheira gave him before departing suggested that the druid doubted that as well. Estel hoped she'd be back soon and bring the Flaming Fist with her: the black fire that burned in Kivan's eyes frightened her. It seemed his eyes had never left Tazok since Coran led them to the bandit camp, the ranger just looked through everything and everyone else, unseeing, intent on his target.

They set up camp at a safe enough distance from the bandits and increased guard. Coran, who grudgingly allowed himself to be persuaded to hang around with his rotting wyvern head for a while to collect the reward for bandit scalps as well, temporarily replaced Jaheira as the sixths member of their group, allowing three watchers to be awake at any one time. One would guard the camp, one keep watch on the bandits and the third scout the woods in between.

It was Estel's turn to watch the bandit camp. She was perched high on a tree that gave good – although somewhat obstructed by the lush leaves, - view of the camp while giving her enough concealment. To an onlooker by some magical means capable of piercing the cover of leaves she would seem in some subtle way very different from the young librarian who entered this forest only days ago. She seemed more at ease with her surroundings, trusting the branch to hold her weight and the leaves to hide her from enemies. Trusting her body to find balance that would let her sit there comfortably for hours without worrying about falling down. The girl who set out from Candlekeep with her foster father could barely be recognized in this Estel. Ever since the night Kivan showed her how to open her senses to the world, she had found herself changed. It seemed the door once opened could not be closed, not even by the shock of experiencing Kivan's memories and his rejection. The door was opened and the world rushed in – enormous, wonderful, and full of life. It promised endless possibilities, had she learned to harness this new awareness.

There was another thing about that night that wasn't quite so wonderful. Had she offended Kivan when she accidentally reached into the most personal of his memories? Not quite so accidentally, if she was completely honest with herself. She was so mesmerized by that completely new level of intimacy, so taken in with the calm strength, kindness and loyalty that shaped the man before her, that she forgot all about boundaries. And he pushed her away as he had every right to. Still, it wasn't easy to forget what she had felt that night and return to the easy friendship they used to share. Not that it mattered now. Kivan was too close to his hated enemy to notice anything else. And, once Tazok was dead, Kivan would leave them. The thought made Estel shiver. She would do better to concentrate on reality and forget this brief dream.

The bandit base looked to Estel more like a village then a mobile camp. Lopsided shacks littered the clearing in no particular pattern. The largest one at the center was bound to be occupied by Tazok. Even Kivan would be unable to sneak into it without a full-blown assault for cover, for the camp was full of people bustling about: harassed-looking camp followers, gnolls, hobgoblins and all kinds of low-lives that got by on killing people and taking their possessions. It had been suggested that they should try to infiltrate the camp, but the party consisting mainly of elves was unlikely to fit in with such crowd. On one side the camp extended onto and into the hill: lookouts were placed at the top and, as far as Estel could tell, there was a cave that was used to keep prisoners.

A group of bandits arrived to the camp. Between them they squeezed a slim figure that had its hands bound behind its back. While Estel was watching, one of the bandits roughly pushed his captive forward, and he stumbled, falling to his knees. Estel fidgeted restlessly in her tree, unable to decide what to do. What could they do? They did not expect the Flaming Fist company for another day at least. The captive was hauled up to his feet and dragged to the cave. Was he to be tortured like Kivan? Could he wait for a day to be rescued?

Estel climbed down the tree and rushed to their camp, sweeping Khalid along as she passed him. No way was she going to make that kind of decision alone.

The group listened to her disorderly report with varying reactions. The first to speak was, predictably, Kivan.

"We cannot allow anyone to be kept prisoner by Tazok!" he declared hotly. "I know all too well how he treats his captives."

"W-we must wait f-for Jaheira," Khalid tried to contradict him in his soft persuasive voice.

"What he said," Coran crossed his arms. "Even if we don't get caught, an escaped prisoner will make them more alert, making things that much more difficult for us."

"But we can't just leave someone there to be tortured!" Imoen tagged at Xan's sleeve in an attempt to make him voice his agreement.

"For all we know, there might be dozens of people in that cave, dead or dying," the mage shrugged.

"All the more reason to get in there and save them!" Imoen tagged at his sleeve again, more forcefully. Xan sighed dejectedly and tried to extricate himself from her grasp. Imoen gave up on him and looked at Estel. "What do you think?"

Estel blinked, suddenly aware that her opinion remained to be the one to tip the scales. Wasn't that exactly what she was trying to avoid by bringing the issue before the whole group?

She remembered the night she caught a glimpse of Deheriana's fate and sensed so vividly Kivan's suffering. If she could travel back in time, if it were the two of them she witnessed being captured, would she hold back until reinforcements arrived? Did she even have a right to hold back, whoever that was being dragged to torture and death?

On the other hand, Jaheira was going to have her ears.

"We could at least scout out that cave," she said slowly, a pained expression on her face. Jaheira was going to be absolutely livid. "It practically at the edge of the camp and shouldn't be so difficult to get into. If we get a chance to set him free, we'll take it."

It was decided that four of them most skilled in sneaking would try to get inside the camp. Khalid and Xan would remain behind and explain everything to Jaheira if something went wrong. Estel did not envy them in that case, but then again, if something went wrong she would be captured and at the mercy of a half-ogre known for torturing elves.

It made no sense to wait until dark: some of the bandits were nocturnal creatures, like gnolls, and the camp did not become emptier or the sentries less vigilant with the coming of night. There was, however, a time when most of the camp was too busy to notice a few extra people around, and that was the time of dinner. Sneaking into the camp was relatively easy. The difficult part was only starting after that. Imoen, acting like she had every legitimate reason to be there, grabbed some food and carried it to the cave. Bandits paid little mind to a grubby kitchen girl bustling about – at least until they finished with their dinner.

"Food for the prisoner," Imoen declared to the single guard posted at the entrance of the cave.

"What's to feed him for?" the guard, bored and irritated by the smells of food unavailable to him until the end of his shift, crossed his arms, making no move to let the girl through.

"I know, right? And it's the good meat too, look!" Imoen opened the lid slightly and the guard made a step toward her to look inside, already plotting to appropriate the dinner the prisoner wasn't going to need anyway. That was when the world switched off for him. Imoen grinned. "Classic."

"Get him inside," Estel hissed. "Coran, take his cloak."

No one noticed the brief absence of the guard, especially since he was back so soon – although rather shorter and slimmer. But that could be contributed to the fact that he was slouching against the wall.

Kivan dragged the real guard into the cave and looked around. There was a rusted cage at the far wall and little else. Though it was big enough to keep half a dozen people, the cage was currently occupied by a single elf – probably the captive Estel saw brought in.

"Yes, that's him," Estel confirmed his thoughts quietly as she walked past him. The prisoner lied on that cave floor, his hands still bound. His shoulder-length black hair was disheveled, strands of it sticking to fresh cuts and scratches on his face, covering it almost completely, but leaving pointed ears open. An elf, then. Estel looked back at Kivan warily, wondering what memories this discovery would awaken in him. Kivan nodded to her and went back to watching the unconscious guard, a look of grim concentration on his face. Somewhat reassured, Estel reached out to the prisoner through the bars. "Hey. Can you hear me?"

The bound elf jerked away from her, his green eyes looked at her with absolute loathing through the veil of hair. "It's not enough for this half-ogre leader of yours to torture my body; he wants to break my spirit by sending one of my own people to do his dirty work?" his chipped lips stretched into a painful grin. "Do your worst, then."

"Shhh! We're saving you, stupid!" Imoen shushed at him, already working on the lock.

"Can you walk?" Estel whispered urgently, saving explanations for when they weren't in the midst of bandit camp.

"I think so," the elf propped himself against the wall with an effort and squinted, looking past them at Kivan standing over the still-unconscious guard. Reassured by the presence of other elves, he nodded. "Yes, I can. They didn't have time to really start… working on me. Something distracted their leader, I think."

Kivan's ears twitched. "What did?"

"I don't know. I think someone arrived."

"What's your name?" Imoen asked, doing something to the lock that Estel knew only as 'get us into trouble' trick back from their days in Candlekeep.

"Endar Sai," the elf inclined his head slightly.

"Nice to meet you, Endar. I'm Imoen. Ah-ha!" Imoen grinned triumphantly when the shackle of the heavy padlock slid out with a satisfying clink. "Now give me those hands of yours."

It wasn't that difficult to sneak into that side of the camp, keeping to the foot of the hill and sprinting from shack to shack. It was much more complicated to sneak out with a beat-up prisoner.

Still, up to a point they were doing pretty well. They were hiding between two shacks when Kivan held up his hand, signaling to pause. He looked out the corner and, when he turned back, Estel sensed a wave of extreme agitation from him. He was shaking with rage. There was only one person in the world that could cause such powerful hatred in him that it would be almost tangible to any elf nearby.

Estel grabbed his arm and mouthed a firm 'no'. Kivan shook his head. Their companions were getting restless, worried that the delay would get them discovered. She tagged at his arm, trying to get him to move, but he barely even noticed her: he was listening to the approaching voices. Another, more insistent tag, and he turned to her, whispering "Go."

"Like hell I'm going!" Estel hissed, but Kivan wasn't there anymore. He leaped out of cover and at his hated enemy.

There was a moment of pause when, at seemed, the whole camp watched, open-mouthed, at the elf who jumped out of nowhere to attack their leader, and then all hell broke loose.

Pain happened.

The adventurers had soon found themselves thrown back into the same cave they had spent so much effort sneaking into earlier. This time, though, they were stripped of their weapons and armor and their hands were bound. Endar sighed philosophically.

The giant of a man with bulging muscles and greenish skin was pacing slowly in front of them, studying his newest catch with the eyes that, disturbingly, betrayed fearsome intelligence. His armor wasn't much different from that of any bandit Estel had seen, but there was something unusual hanging on his belt. Something that looked remarkably like dried ears of varying shapes.

"Well, well," he stopped near Kivan and frowned with faked concern. "If it isn't my buddy Kivan. Brought me some new friends?" The elf growled and thrashed in his bonds. Tazok grinned horribly, baring rows of large orange teeth, and turned to Estel. He squatted in front of her and took her chin into his hand, forcing her to raise her head. Estel tried to break free, but he held her firmly, instead forcing her to turn her head from side to side. "And this must be Estel of Candlekeep. It must be my birthday."

Tazok stood up, heaving Estel effortlessly onto his shoulder and completely ignoring her wild kicking. Seeing her taken away, Kivan redoubled his efforts at breaking free, burning his wrists on the rope and never noticing. "Get the rest of them into the cage, I'll deal with them later," Tazok ordered and with a final smirk at Kivan walked out of the cave.

When the lock closed on them with a click, Kivan felt like he was splashed with icy water. All the rage he felt when he saw Tazok again, all the hatred and lust for revenge that clouded his mind drained away when the reality of what he'd done was thrown into his face. He failed her. Again. Once, his own carelessness had brought the woman he loved into the hands of that monster, and now he did the same to Estel, the girl who trusted him, who inexplicably cared for him enough bring him back from the undeath he'd resigned himself to. After Deheriana's death she was the only one who managed to make him smile – and this was how he repaid her, by dooming her and their other friends to unspeakable torture and death.

"Well," Imoen's voice broke the heavy silence. "Jaheira is going to be _pissed_."

* * *

><p>An: I'm evil, I know. Here's something to cheer you all up: another picture of Estel, this time as a full adult (to reassure you that she is, in fact, going to live long enough for that)). Thing is, the first BG game I got my hands on was the Shadows of Amn and I hadn't played BG1 until years later. So Estel to me was first this badass character and only then she developed backstory I'm writing now. As usual, remove the spaces and the full stop after com. Seriously, though, does anyone know another way of posting links? This here is ridiculous:

malenloth. deviantart. com./ art/ City-of-Coin-344868267


	20. Connecting the Dots

It felt like one of her surreal dreams. Estel struggled all the way to Tazok's tent, accompanied by the jibes and leering of the whole camp: she wasn't the first elf they saw dragged in by their leader, nor the first woman. For all her fears and doubts and Xan's doomsaying, she'd never imagined it would all end this way. Of course, Jaheira and the Flaming Fist were on their way, but exactly how long would it take for Estel to end up like Deheriana? The jumble of painful memories she glimpsed in Kivan's mind were painting the picture of her immediate future – the picture that simply could not be true, because that was not how these stories went. The heroine did not get captured in the middle of her first real adventure to be raped and tortured by mundane bandits. Then again, the logical part of her mind supplied, that was exactly why those stories weren't written down. Nobody returned to tell the tale. Nobody wanted to read about countless young adventurers who left their homes only to disappear without a trace save perhaps for a pile of bones somewhere in the woods and an engraved ring in some shady store, at any rate.

Tazok pushed her into a smaller cage in his tent and locked it. After that he simply turned away, went to his table and started writing. Estel propped herself up and looked at her captor in disbelief.

"What do you want with me?" she asked defiantly, somewhat reassured that Jaheira might, after all, make it in time. Maybe the half-ogre would need time with the longer words…

"So many things," the half-ogre took a moment to size her up with the horrible orange-teethed grin of his that suggested that being eaten was the easy option and then went back to his writing, satisfied that the grin had the desired effect. Estel shriveled up despite herself, pressing her back painfully into the farthest side of the cage. "But Sarevok wants you for himself, birdie."

"And who's that, your boss?" He wasn't going to touch her. He wasn't going to touch her. The thought pulsed in Estel's mind, almost making her smile in relief. She painfully, muscle by muscle, rearranged her face into a defiant expression. Jaheira might just get to her in time, this Sarevok didn't seem to be here yet. Maybe, if Estel learned something about their enemy, Jaheira wouldn't be so angry with her when she'd have to save her? After all, they couldn't keep relying on the bad guys leaving their private correspondence for them to find.

"Sarevok is my god." Tazok took a long look at her, noting the completely blank stare the elven girl gave him in return. Then he laughed incredulously. "You really don't know, do you?"

Estel raked her brain for any mention of a god by that name. There were some new gods who manifested after the Time of Troubles, perhaps one of them...? Was she going to be sacrificed in some dark ritual? That was hardly an improvement over being raped, mutilated and killed. Maybe she and Deheriana could get together in Arvaneith and compare notes. Estel shook her head. That was uncalled for. She couldn't really hold Kivan responsible for her current situation, not after what she had seen and felt that night. "No, I don't think I remember any god by that name."

"Soon you will, birdie," Tazok promised, attaching the message to a pigeon. Done with that, he walked out to release it.

Estel looked about the tent frantically, searching for anything that might help her escape. It was one of those big tents that had separate rooms for sleeping and working, complete with furniture and chests that probably were full of loot, and an unsurprising amount of various rubbish. But it was all cleaned out around the cage, so that there wasn't anything a prisoner could reach. She tried to loosen the rope around her wrists, but was met with another disappointment. If she got out of this... predicament, she was going to start practicing getting out of bonds every evening. That way, if adventuring didn't fall through for her, she could always fall back to a career in the circus.

"Oh come on, there is no such god!" she called out to Tazok as soon as the half-ogre was back. "This is all about the bounty, isn't it?"

"Why haven't I killed you yet, then, birdie?" he squatted in front of the cage to bring their faces to the same level. He didn't seem so big when he sat by his desk, but now he was close enough to fill Estel's entire field of view. Her courage waned considerably in sight of bulging muscles sliding under his greenish skin. His arms easily seemed bigger than her waist and were probably quite capable of snapping her in two. Being bigger than most people he encountered probably made it easy to develop a kind of bully's confidence. "All I need is to deliver your pretty head to Sarevok, eh? I don't need the rest of you to get my money. Maybe I would do just that, if I were just another thug for hire."

"Aren't you?" Estel shot back.

Tazok grinned in that predatory way that made Estel's blood freeze in her veins, but there was something, some thought screaming in the back of her head, straining to be heard. "Well, maybe he will to let me keep your ears for my collection after he's done with you. Of course, I already have a set of brown elvish ears…"

_Deheriana_. He was teasing her with the same fate. A part of her shamefully wanted to think that it would be a heavy blow for Kivan if she died the same way his wife did. A larger, though no less shameful part bitterly retorted that he wouldn't really care whom he trampled on the way to his vengeance. She knew that it was wrong for her to think both ways, that Kivan's wounds were too deep for him to be held accountable, that she might act the same way when she encountered her father's murderer, but it was difficult to be reasonable and forgiving while sitting in a cage.

Tazok leered at her from the other side of the bars, enjoying the turmoil his words were causing. Let him leer. Jaheira was coming for them. She just needed a little more time, and he was giving it to them. All the rest, all the threats and cruel games didn't matter. Except for one… "So Sarevok is the one who put that price on my head," she looked searchingly at the half-ogre. "The one who killed my father."

"Oh the old fool would be fine if you didn't hide behind him like the little shit that you are," Tazok grinned again when Estel jerked as if she was slapped. The words were almost as good as real torture, but he still preferred the latter. "If you just came with us like a good girl, your daddy would be alive and well, birdie."

He wouldn't be. He really wouldn't be, she knew that in her mind. Men like Tazok and this Sarevok could never be trusted when they said things like 'just give us all your money and you can go'. They were the kind to take what they wanted and then proceed to chop you into pieces for their own enjoyment without fear that the thing they wanted would get spoiled in the process. She knew that. But it did nothing to drive away the overwhelming feeling of guilt. It overflowed, filling her eyes with tears, no matter how much she wished not to give the monster before her the satisfaction of seeing her so affected by his mere words.

"Not going to cry now, are you, birdie?"

"What does he want from me?!" Estel lashed out, throwing herself at her torturer. The bars between them connected painfully with her shoulder, but the pain only served to fuel her rage. Her fists clenched, knuckles white with effort as she struggled to free herself.

"You mean you don't know?" Tazok backed away a bit, not to avoid her but to give himself better view. He chucked, amused. "Well, you have plenty of time to think about that, birdie."

* * *

><p>The atmosphere in the cave wasn't much better. On the whole, it wouldn't be so bad: no one came to torture them yet, their hands were unbound, and the Flaming Fist was probably not that far away. But one of their own was taken and they had no way of knowing what was happening to her. They could well imagine, however. Coran was quickly apprised of Kivan's history with Tazok so that his imagination too had some food.<p>

Endar wasn't impressed with his rescuers. At least it wasn't boring now that he wasn't alone in his cage, but that didn't mean he was inclined to stay. The elf fiddled with the lock, annoyed at the absence of any suitable tools, but not discouraged.

"So how did you end up here?" Imoen asked after finishing the tale of their adventures. She and Coran huddled together, finding comfort in each other's warmth. It was nice. It made the thought of Estel being at the mercy of that creature just a little less frightening, though not by much. She needed to keep talking. Talking and Coran's arm around her shoulders distracted her from her own helplessness.

"Funny story." Endar muttered something in Elvish under his breath when the lock refused to open yet again. Given the circumstances, Imoen assumed that was swearing, but even elvish swearing sounded like music. Elves were annoying that way.

"You certainly know your way around locks," Coran commented idly. He hadn't spent enough time with this company to get emotionally invested in the pretty elven girl who liked to pretend she was an elven boy. It was terrible that she was taken away, of course, but what could they do? Fight through the whole camp to save her? That's how they got into their current situation in the first place. He was quite content to wait for the Flaming Fist to crush the party.

"So does your lady here," Endar shrugged, not embarrassed in the slightest. "Yes, I'm a thief. From the Gate."

"That's a long way to go just to steal from bandits." Imoen watched Kivan warily. They elf hadn't said a word ever since Estel was taken away. He just sat in the corner, staring into nothing. Served him right, of course, but still…

"That's the thing, I didn't steal from any bandits," Endar turned to her with a gleam in his eye that suggested he had some wild theory about the reason for his abduction. "These guys? Black Talons and Chill. They don't go into the cities. I listened to them talking, and they think their leaders take orders from the Zhents. But I can tell you, I didn't cross no Zhentarim."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I pick my enemies," the thief explained eagerly. "There's only one group who'd want me out of the way, and that's the Iron Throne. And here I am, a prisoner of the bandit's who'd been plying the trade roots for months. Interesting, don't you think?"

"What's the Iron Throne?" Imoen asked. Estel would already be reciting some article from that library in her head. Imoen pressed closer to Coran, trying not to think about what was happening to her friend. The elf gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"Merchants. Or so they like to introduce themselves. They don't shy from extortions, assassinations and pretty much anything that can serve to fill their pockets, but right now they're pretty popular with the Dukes."

"Why is that?"

"Because they are the only ones who still sell iron," Endar looked at the cave entrance thoughtfully. "And now I can see why."

"So they poisoned the Nashkel mines and hired the bandits to stop all iron going into the city so that they could get rich, setting their own prices! Why didn't we make that connection?" Imoen frowned.

"You're not from the Gate, dove," Coran said. "You know only what's been going on out here."

"Well now we're with someone who knows what's going on in there!"

"A lot of good it does us," Endar gestured significantly at their surroundings.

"Oh don't worry, we're going to get out of here soon," Imoen leaned forward conspiratorially and lowered her voice. "Someone is coming for us."

"Because it worked so well last time," Endar rolled his eyes and went back to struggling with the lock.


	21. To the Rescue

Xan prudently hid behind Khalid, rationalizing that the latter was more used to dealing with enraged Jaheira, and anyway she was less likely to kill her own husband. Xan did not relish the thought of having to explain to his heroic ancestors how he was killed by an angry half-elven druid. Although he did recall having a purist ancestor who would probably see this as proof of his point against half-elves. He did not relish that thought either.

Jaheira looked like she was about to murder someone. She didn't shout, didn't interrupt, which somehow seemed even worse. She wasn't going to go spare. She'd listen very quietly, gathering that murderous air with every sentence. And when she'd found out whose exactly that bloody stupid idea was, and drag her out of that cave by her unaccommodatingly short hair, that's when she was going to go spare. So she listened to Khalid's thorough account of the events and his description of the camp's defenses, forming a plan in her head.

"The lookout on that hill complicates matters," Officer Vai beat her to it. The real problem, of course, was the prisoners. Too often during her time as a Flaming Fist she'd found some poor bastards with their throats slit as a final act of spite by whatever band of miscreants she was cleaning out at the time. She knew that she didn't need to reiterate it to Jaheira. Vai had come to respect the druid's competence and good sense, as another woman in a leader position that was, and probably would be always considered a man's job. "We will need to split and attack from three sides. The hill will act as a natural barrier that will halt their escape in that direction."

"They will likely try to organize defense there, with their backs covered by the hill," Jaheira frowned.

"Which is why you three will sneak into the cave in the initial confusion of the attack, free your people, arm them and attack the bandits from behind," Vai concluded.

"That plan will only work if my people are in any condition to fight," the druid reminded her, mindful of Kivan's experience with these particular bandits. Not that Jaheira wasn't tempted to say that the archer deserved the repeated experience if he had anything to do with that stupid decision to rush in to save the unnamed prisoner, and she was sure that he had.

"If they are not, the cave seems to be quite defensible. If you find that you cannot join us, protect the entrance and I wouldn't say no to some magic frying their backsides to help confusion along." Vai looked back at her people. They could do it without the help of a small band of adventurers. She had many seasoned warriors who had been keeping order in these parts for years, two mages and a priest among them. True, they looked somewhat apprehensive of the ancient forest around them, but bandits were bandits and her people knew their job.

* * *

><p>The prisoners sprung up to the sounds of battle from the outside.<p>

"Finally!" Imoen exclaimed and nudged Endar impatiently. "Come on, open it! We should join them!"

"Don't shout!" the thief hissed and looked warily at the guard posted at the entrance to the cave. If he was still standing there, then whoever attacked the camp hadn't gotten far yet. Still, there was a better chance of escape than what they had before. Endar set to work. The lock, loosened gradually over the past day, came undone in his hands and he quietly opened the door, trying not to attract attention of the guard. Moving silently in his soft-soled boots, he crept to the corner where all their armor and weapons were dumped and took a dagger.

It turned out to be unnecessary. Suddenly, roots sprung up from the earth, entangling the guard. Before he could recover from shock, he was struck down. Three people, all of them having elven features at least to some extent, rushed into the cave, dragging the body with them. Endar was struck by the strongest sensation of déjà vu.

"What, again?" he groaned.

"Told ya they'd come for us," Imoen winked, already struggling into her leathers. "Hey Auntie Jaheira."

"None of that," Jaheira cut her off curtly, studying them all in turn. Everyone appeared to be more or less unharmed, but… "Where's Estel?"

"Where's Tazok?" Kivan asked intently, gripping his sword.

"This isn't the time to lose your head over revenge, elf!" Jaheira rolled her eyes.

"He took her!" the archer explained, impatient.

Jaheira hesitated for a moment. Officer Vai expected them to help corner the bandits. But she made it quite clear that Jaheira was to attend to her people first. "Do you know where she's being kept?"

"Could be in his tent," Endar supplied, wondering if these rescuers would fare any better than the last ones, or if instead of escaping while they had a chance, this newest batch would get tossed right in with them after trying to topple Tazok. Not that he proposed to leave the girl behind, but she had spent a day alone with the bandit leader and possibly other bandits, what was left of her by now? "If she's still alive." That entirely reasonable remark earned him five burning stares and a sympathetic shrug from Coran.

"Stay together and keep an eye out for Tazok, but our priority is to find Estel," Jaheira fixed everyone with a stare, pausing at Kivan for a bit longer. She had her suspicions about what exactly had landed them into this situation… and the elf did not hold her gaze.

Outside was a true battlefield. The Chill, rallied around their leader, were refusing to give up ground to the Flaming Fist. It was terrifying to watch gnolls, hobgoblins and other monstrous figures, towering over their human opponents, deal blows with not just their weapons, but also paws and teeth, all with cruel enjoyment. The Black Talons, though more normal in appearance that their allies, seemed no less bloodthirsty and unhinged.

"They know they're cornered!" Jaheira shouted over the clang of weapons and the screams. "Be alert and stay together!"

Their progress was terribly slow. There, in the thick of it, it seemed like the bandits were a whole army and that the battle would go on forever. Once or twice Kivan had thought that he caught sight of his hated enemy, but Tazok wasn't the only bandit with ogre blood. The archer hated to think that someone else might kill him while Kivan was trying to get to the bandit leader's tent, but he pushed those thought from his mind. It was his fault that Estel wasn't fighting with them. Tazok took her, and it was Kivan who delivered her into his hands just like he did Deheriana so long ago.

As he cut down bandits around him, carving a path to the tent, the vision of his wife's bloodied face hovered before his eyes. Her screams dimmed the sounds of battle, the pain and anguish in her sweet voice driving him ever forward. The bandits recoiled from the demon with eyes that burned with vengeful black flame.

The group defending the tent tried to stop him. He fell upon them like an avalanche of blows, barely aware of Jaheira and the others at his side. As soon as the bandits were dealt with, he rushed into the tent. The curtain, the empty space inside… the cage.

Estel looked up at the apparition before her with some trepidation. Kivan's face was dark with rage she had not seen before. His mad eyes stared at her and yet somehow did not see her.

"Estel!" Jaheira ran in behind him, the others at her heel. For the time being there was only relief in her voice.

"I'm alright, I'm alright!" Estel blinked, tearing her eyes away from Kivan. "Just a bit stiff from the rope."

"Get that cage opened!" Jaheira commanded and they set about finding the key or picking the lock.

All except for Kivan who still stood there, staring. The vision of his wife's bloodied, tortured form was slowly fading, revealing Estel – safe, unharmed. It took his mind time to accept that this wasn't some kind of miraculous second chance, a dream come true where a company of warriors arrived in time to save his wife.

"I'm alright, he didn't touch me," Estel repeated when she was finally out of the cage and rubbing life back into her hands. Jaheira, unconvinced, continued examining her for injuries.

"How is this possible?" Kivan was the next to grab her and stare at her in wonder.

"It looks like he wanted to keep me alive for the guy who put the bounty on my head," she wavered when Imoen flung herself at her in a smothering hug.

"We'll talk after the camp is secured," Jaheira turned back to business at hand. "We brought your weapons, let's go."

As it turned out, there wasn't much left to do. The Flaming Fists were helping their wounded and rounding up the few survivors who could be used to extract information. Finding Vai took simply locating the largest group of bound bandits.

"I see you've found your people," Vai nodded to Jaheira and gave an appraising look to the others. "And some new ones."

"Officer Vai!" Imoen exclaimed, almost going in for the hug but changing her mind at the last moment, noticing the older woman's expression. "You came right on time! We've just finished gathering the information, on the inside like, and were waiting for you!"

"Is that what you were doing?" Jaheira drew out, giving the girl a look that spelled 'I'll talk to you later'.

"What have you found out?" Vai asked.

"Well, apparently these guys were hired by the Iron Throne to make sure that people really needed iron and they were the only ones who still had it," Imoen reported proudly. "But the bandits think they are working for the Zhents, so you won't get much out of them."

"Their leader would know more, did you get him?" Kivan asked urgently. The thought of someone else killing Tazok still wasn't much to his liking, but him getting away and disappearing yet again was even less so.

"No," Vai looked at the elf somewhat guiltily, knowing how much it mattered to him. "He must've slipped away during the fight."

Kivan hissed a curse in elvish and slammed his fist into the wall in a show of emotion that only overtook him when his quarry was concerned. Estel touched his arm fearfully and looked into his dark face.

"He spoke of someone named Sarevok. Do you know anyone by that name?" she asked. The archer shook his head.

"Sarevok? Would that be Sarevok Anchev?" Endar's face brightened up.

"Who is he?" Jaheira crossed her arms, not quite happy that the children would think everything was fine if their misadventure turned up useful information.

"The son to the leader of the Iron Throne," Vai answered thoughtfully. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. The way he spoke of him… it was almost like he worshipped him. Said it wasn't about the money with him. I don't think Tazok slipped away this time," Estel looked at Kivan again. "I think he went to Sarevok to warn him that we're on to them. And that's where we'll find him."

"Then that's where we need to go," Kivan's eyes lit up with purpose again.

"You are mad, elf, I told you before and I will tell you again," Vai said, irritated. "You will need proof to even touch someone that influential, and all we have right now is the word of some bandit without even the bandit himself! If you attempt to attack Sarevok in Baldur's Gate, it will be the Flaming Fist who'll drag you away and leave you to rot in a cell."

"So let's get that proof!" Estel said, looking around for a place to start. "There must be something left in the camp and a lot of his buddies still alive! And what about Bill? We never asked him about the Iron Throne, maybe he knows something."

"Escaped," Vai answered coldly. "Killed one of my men in the process, wounded the other."

"Oh," Estel said, trying to avoid looking at Jaheira.

* * *

><p>It was strange to feel useless again. Apparently, their capture combined with Bill's escape had lost her quite a bit of credibility which she was just beginning to earn with Jaheira. Estel soon became bored and at times grossed out with watching interrogations. Imoen and Coran slipped away long before that, 'to celebrate', apparently. Endar kept out of the way, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible hoping that the flaming fist of the law had a bigger fish to grab for at this particular time and wouldn't bother with him. Kivan was eventually sent away to sulk by annoyed Vai who didn't like the way the elf interfered in her interrogation. That left Jaheira, Khalid and Xan and not much for Estel to do.<p>

She found Kivan on the riverbank near the camp. The elf was an even more depressing sight than usual. Estel suspected it had something to do with the lecture Jaheira gave him on endangering the group for selfish revenge. That's what chased him away in the end, after all, not anything Vai could say. Estel supposed she should've been angry with him as well, and she was for a while, but she couldn't really keep this up. Not when she knew just how strongly he was driven and how much he had suffered.

"Jaheira will thaw out," she promised, dropping herself beside him.

"She was right," Kivan gave her a look like he wasn't aware she was there. That was a dubious achievement, startling a ranger.

"Well, yes," Estel allowed, shrugging. "But we learned a lot from that. Like who orchestrated this whole iron crisis. And who murdered my father."

Kivan gave her a sharp look.

"Tazok told me," she nodded. "Sarevok killed him. For protecting me. And when I got away he put a bounty on my head."

"Why?"

"Didn't say. Didn't want to spoil his boss the pleasure of telling me, I guess," she shivered, thinking again of that night and the monster she remembered. That monster now had a human name, but she wasn't any closer now to answers than she was then. "Anyway, I'm sure we'll get Tazok when we get this Sarevok."

"I wasn't going to abandon you to hunt Tazok," Kivan said, looking at her intently.

"You don't need to stay," Estel shook her head, secretly elated.

"Yes, I do. Jaheira is right, I endangered you all, and you especially. When I saw Tazok carrying you away…" he stopped, the memories he had fought hard to suppress flooding back. They were silent for a while, neither knowing what to say. When he had finally continued, Kivan had the faraway look on his face. He was strangely calm, like a man talking in his sleep. "When Deheriana and I were surrounded and we knew we wouldn't be able to get away… I had my knife to her throat. I just needed a moment before they swarmed us, and I had that moment… but I couldn't do it."

Estel blinked, looking at him in stunned disbelief. "You're ashamed… that you didn't kill your wife? Are you mad?"

"Was it better for her to suffer endless tortures at the hands of Tazok and his cronies?" Kivan shot back.

"And what if someone came to your rescue when you've already killed her? What if Tazok had some special interest in her like he did in me and didn't touch her? What then?"

"No one came," he gritted his teeth, fighting anger that Estel didn't deserve.

"Kivan, listen to me," she grabbed his shoulders and turned him back to her. "You did everything right. There is hope while there's life. But death is final, it's… giving up. I'd never want you to kill me just to spare me the pain, and I'm sure neither did Deheriana. No, you're not allowed to say that I don't understand! I _was_ in her place, Kivan!"

"It was different, we knew Jaheira was coming," he muttered stubbornly, avoiding her eyes.

"Really? And what do you figure would be left of me after the time it took for them to get here?" Estel sighed and let him go, sitting back on the ground. "I know Deheriana doesn't blame you. Neither do I, by the way."

"You should. It was my fault you were caught, and only your questionable luck that you weren't touched," he finally looked at her decisively. "But it will not happen again. I will not put you at risk to satisfy my own revenge, even if it means Tazok getting away. This I swear."

"And I intend to help you find him like I promised, so we seem to have a conflict of interests," Estel chuckled. She did not expect for his solemn words to mean so much. She did not expect him to put her before his oath to kill Tazok. But he did, and she found she had nothing meaningful to say in return, because her heart was in her throat. She could only hope he knew.


	22. Down Again

The captured bandits were quite indignant to be accused of associating with the Iron Throne. No, they were definitely following the orders of Zhentarim, not some fat merchants from the Gate. In fact, Vai was told, two Zhentarim agents had passed through only two days past on their way to inspect the mine. What mine? Well now, there was information worth sparing a life, wasn't it? Wasn't it?

"There is a hidden mine further to the north," Vai pointed at the blank space on Estel's map. The map was spread out on Tazok's own table in Tazok's own tent appropriated by the officer as a temporary base of operations. Aside from Vai's second and her senior mage only Jaheira was invited to discuss the information received from the bandits. She bent over the map, studying the point that came so close to the southern bank of the River Chiontar that it would probably be visible from a passing boat if not for the cover of trees and hills. It was quite possible, in fact, that there was an easier way to get to the mine by the river instead of passing through the mysterious and dangerous Cloakwood. It was definitely easier to deliver the iron they presumably mined there by boat rather than caravans. "All the stolen iron and captives are also sent there."

"Slave labor?" Jaheira raised her eyes briefly to look at the officer.

"Wouldn't be much of a hidden mine if the workers could go back home at the end of the day," Vai's second in command Zhein, a tall scruffy fellow with an ever-present straw stuck to his lower lip, shrugged carelessly. Jaheira had a vague dislike for the man. While the Flaming Fists did indeed keep the peace in and around Baldur's Gate, the majority of them were nothing more than sellswords whose swords were quite by chance bought by the more or less decent leaders. If they hadn't been, Jaheira could easily imagine some of them fighting on the bandits' side today. Zhein, however, was among the most intelligent and skilled ones, if not the ones burdened by principles or mercy.

"What of those supposed Zhentarim agents?" the druid asked.

"The word of a thief is about all we've got to link the Iron Throne to the iron shortage," Vai frowned.

"Tazok admitted to working for Sarevok," Jaheira reminded her. She had no reason to doubt Estel's words even if the child had made a few poor judgements to get that information.

"I confess, I would rather Zhentarim were behind it. The Iron Throne is being very helpful to the city at the moment."

"Not if we grab that mine for ourselves," Zhein noted nonchalantly. "Then we don't need to deal with the Iron Throne."

"Yes," Vai nodded thoughtfully. "We might find some proof inside that connects the Iron Throne to the crisis, and even if we don't, they won't be able to come forward to openly claim the mine without drawing suspicion, not after we cleaned out bandits and Zhentarim agents. Either way, if we free the mine from the bandits, we can claim it for the city."

It was decided that a smaller group would go into the mine while the rest of the mercenaries remained in the camp as a nasty surprise to whatever bandits were away during the initial attack. Apart from the Flaming Fists the group going into the mine counted all of Estel's companions including one rather apprehensive but determined to get some payback Ender Sai.

They reached the place indicated by the bandit in just a few hours, but there was no mine no matter how long the scouts crawled in the bushes and climbed the trees around the high fence that surrounded several wooden buildings. From her high branch Estel could discern the stable, the barrack and some kind of ramshackle shed. Armed and armored people wandered around or stood guard at the entrances, but they wore nothing that could point to their affiliation.

The scouts crept back to report their findings, and soon the plan was formulated. Vai and several of her men boldly approached the bridge that was the only way inside the fence. Two guards assessed their number and their faces assumed the expressions of extremely bored men who noticed entertainment just coming their way.

"By the authority of the Dukes of Baldur's Gate I demand you identify yourselves!" Vai bellowed, probably drawing attention of every guard inside. The ones guarding the entrance exchanged looks and rushed forward, counting on the narrow bridge to negate the numerical superiority.

And fell at Vai's feet, arrows stuck in their necks. The officer glanced up briefly to where she knew her archers were placed and then drew her sword.

The rest was a massacre. The number of guards that would've been more than enough for a typical adventurer party turned out to be completely helpless against the numerous and well organized Flaming Fist. When Estel climbed down her tree and joined the others, Vai was already interrogating the sole survivor. One more man lied on the ground at his feet, his throat slit. A distasteful thought told Estel that he was probably killed as an example. If so, it was working.

"Please, please don't kill me!" the surviving guard quivered, throwing short glances at his less lucky companion. "I'll tell you everything!"

"Where is it?" Vai demanded.

"In the shed!" the man shrieked.

"A mine in the shed?" one of the Flaming Fists sneered. "Mustn't be much of a mine then."

"The… the secret entrance," he glanced again at the dead man at his feet. "I can show you if you let me live!"

"Show me," Vai jerked her head in the direction of the shed and her men roughly led the captive inside. He moved purposefully between piles of horse feed to a non-descript spot near the back wall where he kicked away the rotten straw that covered the floor. There was a hatch underneath.

"Can I go now?" the guard asked carefully.

"Open it," Vai ordered.

The guard lifted the hatch obediently and was promptly shoved in first. Luckily for him, there was no one inside the small cellar. All they saw was the wooden basket of an elevator and the reel for operating it. That was not something quite to their taste. For one, it meant some of the men would need to stay on the surface to lower the rest into the mine. It also meant they had to rely on those men to lift them back up or remain trapped down in the mine. Xan looked particularly green.

"There must be another way out," Estel voiced her hopes uncertainly as the elevator began its slow descent into the damp darkness. They were in the second batch: there were simply too many of them to fit into the elevator. "They must take the iron out somehow and there are no signs of it around here."

"Doesn't help us much," Xan looked around him hopelessly. He was clutching one of the ropes so hard his fingers went white, but he probably didn't even realize that he did. "Who's going to come and save us this time? There's no one left."

"You've got it backwards again, silly," Imoen admonished him. The girl wrinkled her nose at the stale dump air they were descending into, but her spirits were not so easily dampened. "_We_ are the ones who save people."

"That's precisely my point. So who's going to save _us_?"

"Must you always be in such a foul mood, mellonamin?" Coran put his arm around Imoen's shoulders, seemingly unaffected by the surroundings. "You are a legendary Moonblade wielder, after all. What could happen to us in such an esteemed company?"

The look of resigned patience Xan gave Coran was the one people usually reserved for blithering idiots who could not be held accountable for their words. "The last time I went down a mine I was captured by a half-orc dark cleric and had nearly died by the time Estel and the others happened to wander that way. Now that we're all going together, however…"

"You people sure get captured a lot, don't you?" Ender commented lazily.

"We do it on purpose," Imoen responded smoothly. "To destroy the enemy from within sort of thing."

Jaheira rolled her eyes. They used to have only two children in their party, now it was like she was in charge of a whole pack of them. Luckily, the descent wasn't a long one and they had soon rejoined the rest of the party.

"They know we're coming," Vai informed them. "We need to find whoever is in charge, but it won't be easy getting to them."

"What's that smell?" Xan was looking around apprehensively. Torches merely served to punctuate the gloom of the underground, somewhere far off there was an echo of dripping water and miner pickaxes, but worst of all was the air. So foul, stale and damp, it almost felt like he could swim through it.

"It's the river," a dwarven mercenary answered expertly. "It's a deathtrap, this place. Too damp, too close to the river. Got flooded once already, like as not."

"So all the important people would probably be on the upper level and near the entrance, right? So they could get out quickly," Estel said hopefully. She felt as bad as Xan looked in this dark cramped _unhappy_ place, and the talk of flooding did not help. She imagined she could sense death in the smell of rotting wood – old death and silt.

"And all the slaves are probably down there. No one would come work here of their own free will," Jaheira was frowning, but she was always frowning. As for the rest, some looked apprehensive, others eager to cut down everyone responsible. With the Flaming Fist it was a simple matter of sweeping through this level of the mines, wiping out any resistance they encountered. Many times Estel had to wonder how they would've fared without the mercenaries. Dead in the bandit camp was the simple and accurate answer. They were hardly the dragon-slaying heroes of legend Imoen imagined them to be.

Their search led them by a prison cell whose single occupant – a dwarf with a lush if badly matted beard, - sprung up at their approach. Starved and unwashed, he looked like he had spent a long time in that cell, but was still far from losing his spirit.

"By Clangeddin!" he proclaimed, noticing the Flaming Fist emblems. "It's about time somebody from the city used their brains! Name's Yeslick, do you see a key around here somewhere?"

"Who are you?" Vai asked rather testily, not pleased by the welcome or the fact that the ones to 'use their brains' to bring them here were some wandering adventurers.

"You don't know?" the dwarf paused for a downshift of assumptions, quite obviously disappointed in his rescuers. "This mine here? It was my clan's. Long ago, before we breached a riverbank and it became a flooded tomb."

Estel shivered, once again aware of the feeling of old death that hung in the unmoving air and soaked into the walls.

"How did it come into the hands of bandits then?" Jaheira demanded, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

"Bandits, hah!" Yeslick snorted. "That's what this Iron Throne is alright. Tortured the location of the mine outta me! Clangeddin knows how they even learned about it. Then they come here and drain the water and make money on the bones of my family!" he paused, remembered pain – both physical and otherwise, - contorting his face into a mask of fury and taking his breath away. It took him a moment to calm down. "How's that search for key coming? Get me a mace, too, if ye find one."

"Are you in any shape to fight?" Vai asked with doubt, nodding for her men to look for a way to open the cell.

"Am I? I can do better than that. I can lead you straight to where that bastard Davaeorn is hiding, and after we send him to hell I can show you how to flood the rest of them so he doesn't feel lonely there!"

* * *

><p>An: sorry for the long delay. Promotion, new responsibilities and travelling leave little time or energy for writing.


	23. The Sleep of Reason

Yeslick didn't lie about knowing the mine inside out. Or, for that matter, about hating its current owners. He led the group confidently to the lowest level, never hesitating to bash in the knees of any unfortunate guard that tried to impede their progress.

Their path took them by the indifferent captives working their pickaxes with mechanic monotony. Most paid no attention to the armed party passing by, those who did – cowered in fear. Estel noticed that many had sickly blotches and boils on their skin. Coughing mixed with the rhythmic sound of pickaxes hitting the stone. There was no way anyone would come here voluntarily.

"Not very healthy working conditions," Coran commented, looking around.

"Could they be improved?" Vai asked Yeslick, still planning to claim the mine for the city. The officer was careful not to mention that part to him – the dwarf's assistance was crucial, and he was raving about flooding the mine all the way.

"Could be," the dwarf shrugged. "If they bothered to make proper ventilation and didn't keep the poor buggers here all the time. Seal off some passages closest to the river, too, but there's a lot of iron there, so there you have it."

As much as they hated seeing people reduced to gaunt hollow-eyed slaves, the only thing they could do for them was to press on, find Davaeorn and stop him. Yeslick led them lower and lower down, until they finally reached the candlelit chambers as different from the dull horrors they passed on their way here as day was to night. Rich tapestries concealed the crude walls of the mine, and only the all-penetrating smell of rot reminded them of where they were.

Davaeorn looked on with disgust as his personal guard was being decimated in the cramped quarters. There were two men standing beside him, although Estel couldn't spend much time watching people who weren't at the moment actively trying to kill her – it was far more prudent to devote her attention to those who were. But they were a strange pair nonetheless. The first one, a fidgety halfling that looked eager to join the fight, was fingering his weapons and urging the bandits on with promises of bodily harm. The other one, a human mage by the looks of him, was pulling at his hair, his wild eyes rolling disturbingly in their sockets.

"You can see it for yourselves now," Davaeorn commented calmly, talking to the halfling rather than to his disturbed friend. "The Flaming Fists are attacking our operations, trying to starve the region of iron and blame it all on Zhentarim."

"Want red rivers, do they?" the halfling grinned predatory, anticipating bloodbath with apparent pleasure.

The mage ignored them, muttering something to himself, and from the way some of the bandits seemed to shrug off their wounds and experienced mercenaries suddenly stumbled with fatigue, she suspected he was casting spells. They were already tired from fighting through all levels of the mine, some of them had minor injuries. The mage didn't seem to be doing so well himself, however.

"Could we cease this incessant noise?!" he suddenly screamed at the top of his lungs, clutching his head. "'Tis such a pain behind the eyes!"

There was more to his scream than mere words, however. Estel felt a blast of energy go through her, making her hair stand on end. The iron shocks of weapons clashing that seemed to trouble the mage so much ceased. She looked around her in surprise and saw disoriented people crawling or stumbling away, their faces contorted in boundless primal horror as each looked at something only they could see. Not just the Flaming Fists, but bandits as well – the entire room of seasoned warriors was suddenly reduced to frightened children.

No, wait. Not the entire room. Imoen was trying to extricate herself from the bandit that clung to her for dear life, weapons forgotten, but Imoen herself looked bewildered rather than frightened. It seemed their position nearest to the exit had protected them from whatever spell the mage unleashed, or perhaps they simply hadn't faced as many horrors as more experienced warriors did for the spell to affect them so.

"Interesting," Davaeorn drawled, and Estel jerked her head up to look at him. He was watching the mad mage with approving curiosity. But the halfling wasn't by his side anymore. That was when the feeling of cold dread had finally paralyzed Estel, but it had nothing to do with the spell: the halfling was moving through the stricken fighters, gleefully slitting throats. His progress was slowed considerably by the fact that he didn't trouble himself with separating friend from foe and so had twice as many helpless victims to kill – and he always paused to watch as they gurgled their last breaths.

Her mind was racing for any straw to grasp as the vicious halfling grabbed a whimpering bandit by his hair and stared into his wide unseeing eyes curiously. Nobody noticed her yet – and if they did, she probably looked frightened enough by now to seem affected by the spell. What could she do? She wanted to attack the halfling before he killed anyone else. But if she did, the mages would kill her instantly from their safe distance.

Estel looked desperately around her. How long were the effects the spell supposed to last? She wished Gorion taught her magic. But judging by the fact that nobody was hurrying the halfling as he took his sweet time murdering right and left, there was little hope of everyone waking up from whatever nightmares the mad mage concocted for them.

Another frightened whimpering was cut off with a gurgle as she stood there torn with indecision.

"Imoen!" she whispered desperately, backing away to get closer to her friend.

"I hear ya," the girl hissed with annoyance, still struggling with the clingy bandit. "Let go of me, you big baby!"

"We need to do something, now."

"Like what?" Imoen finally managed to push the bandit away. He fell onto his back and scampered away until he hit the wall.

"Something. To buy them time to come to their senses at least," Estel tightened her grip on the sword. She was pretty sure she wouldn't regret killing this particular halfling. She might even go as far as enjoy it. "I'll get the halfling. You try to shoot the mages while they'll be distracted."

"You're sure?" Imoen whispered doubtfully, but at that moment the halfling got to Khalid. The half-elf was a complete wreck, lying on the floor hugging himself and rocking. They could only guess that he was reliving whatever it was that left him stuttering.

As Imoen began to move stealthily to a better position, using the frightened people as cover, Estel fell upon the unsuspecting halfling.

"You appear to have missed one," Davaeorn commented calmly, already reaching for spell components.

The halfling might've been an experienced fighter. But he enjoyed killing the helpless mercenaries far too much and certainly didn't expect any of them to suddenly begin fighting back. It only took a moment. Finished with him, Estel turned to the mages. The mad one fell with an arrow in his throat and she almost allowed herself to believe they'd survive this desperate attack, but the second arrow bounced off Davaeorn failing to even distract him from casting his spell.

Estel had just enough time to hear Imoen's surprised curse when a bolt of lightning caught her full on the chest. There was a moment of searing pain, a nauseating smell of burning meat, and the world went dark.

* * *

><p>It was pleased with her, she could tell. The monster that killed her father grinned at her, showing all of its spiky teeth, its yellow eyes glowing in the darkness of the night forest. Except it wasn't the monster that killed her father anymore, it was Tazok, looking at her appreciatively through the bars. But it wasn't Tazok either, it was the halfling giving her thumbs up with his bloodied hands, a wide grin on his scarred face and his shirt soaked with blood where she ran him through.<p>

A kaleidoscope of faces flashed before her eyes with maddening speed before finally settling into familiar features that were her own. The grin remained the same through all of them. Another her drifted closer and reached out to her, fingers inches away. Every instinct told her to run, but fear had frozen her to the spot – fear of what would happen if she touched her.

"Wake up," the apparition said suddenly in a voice that was distantly familiar but not her own, losing all its frightening quality. "Wake up, lazy."

"Imoen?" Estel opened her eyes – something she had never expected to do ever again, - and the apparition was replaced by her friend's face hovering over her. She was lying on the bedroll, by the feel of it, and there were people around, but no one was whimpering in fear anymore. Or, for that matter, tried to kill them. "What happened?"

"That Davaeorn guy had some kind of fancy enchanted robe, Xan said," Imoen shrugged. "I could've taken him, of course, but by the time you fell Jaheira and he managed to break free of the spell, so they helped."

Estel felt under her burnt shirt, suddenly reminded of being hit with lightning, but found nothing but tender new skin.

"Vai's cleric healed you," Imoen said. "And everyone else too. You know, we really need a cleric in our party. It's practically textbook."

"How many did we lose?" the elf sat up, looking around her. They were still in the same room, but there were no bodies.

"The Flaming Fists lost five men in total. We didn't lose anyone," she added quickly.

"I see you are awake," Jaheira sat down next to them and looked at Estel with rather more warmth then she ever showed after their little mess-up with the bandits. "I'd very much like to know how you two managed to resist that spell."

"We were probably just too awesome for that guy to handle," Imoen shrugged. "Does it matter? We saved the day!"

"We were probably just too far away and there were too many people between us and the mage," Estel smiled ruefully.

"I tend to agree," Jaheira nodded thoughtfully. "Be as it may, the mine was liberated and it is time for us to move on, if you are feeling up to it."

"We aren't going to stay and help Vai with the rest of the bandits?" Estel asked with a bit of disappointment. Although numbers didn't help them much in that last fight, she had grown used to have a detail of experienced mercenaries watch her back. It would be rather scary to be on their own again.

"They can handle it. We are going to Baldur's Gate to continue our investigation."

"Where is Vai anyway? I want to say goodbye," Estel looked around and suddenly became aware of the raised voices that were assaulting her ears for quite some time now. Officer Vai was in the middle of a heated argument with Yeslick.

"Discussing finer points of mine ownership with Yeslick," Jaheira followed her gaze. "He has found the key to that river plug and very much wants to use it."

"Seeing all those poor people down here, I kinda agree with him," Imoen shivered.

"This is none of our affair," Jaheira cut her off. "Get your things."

The rest of their party gathered around and, once everyone was satisfied that yes, Estel felt fine and was fit to continue their journey, they walked up to Vai to say their goodbyes.

"Once you reach Baldur's Gate, find the man named Scar. He's the second in command of the Flaming Fist. I've sent rider ahead, so he'll know of you and of everything we discovered," she instructed Jaheira and turned to the girls, smiling warmly. "I wish I knew what secret artifacts give you such impressive resistance to magic, but my men and I are in your debt. I'm sure I will soon hear tales of your exploits."

"You betcha!" Imoen swelled with pride.

"Take great care," Vai looked the party over. "You are taking on a powerful enemy."

It was good to finally be out of the mine and in the fresh air. It was even better the next day to get out of the enchanted wood and onto the road – now clear of the bandits, although some stragglers were bound to cause trouble somewhere, but Vai's men could handle that. The Friendly Arm Inn provided them with half-forgotten wonders of real actual beds and roof over their heads.

When they were finally ready to continue on their way to the city, however, they discovered that they were one man – or elf, as it were, - short.

"Where's Coran?" Estel asked, expecting the cheeky elf to have lingered in the tavern for one last jug of ale.

"He's gone," Imoen smiled dreamily. Estel raised an eyebrow, quite confused now. Her friend's rapid relationship with Coran was a topic she kept meaning to bring up, but the bandits kept getting in the way. "He needs to get that wyvern's head to Beregost to get our money, remember? And Jaheira would never agree to waste so much time," that was said with a reproachful look at the older woman. "So we agreed to meet at the Purple Wyrm Inn."

Jaheira and Khalid exchanged doubtful looks, but chose to remain silent. The topic was soon forgotten by all as the road once again rolled under their feet, leading them to yet another adventure.


	24. Ways of Greeting

Baldur's Gate, the great city of Balduran, home to the Council of Four, birthplace of Eldrith the Betrayer greeted them with eye-watering smells, overwhelming noises and disorienting crowds. No books on this city could prepare Estel for how impossibly crammed it seemed in every aspect of its vibrant life. Buildings huddled together so closely that if you climbed onto the roof of one of them you could probably walk to any place in the city without ever having to touch the ground. If there was a place where yet another narrow house could be squeezed into it invariably was. The people that occupied all those houses scurried about on their business, paying no attention to the adventurers – quite the opposite from the small towns they'd visited before where everyone seemed to watch the newcomers until they were out of sight as a means of entertainment. They were paid so little attention, in fact, that Estel had to constantly dodge to avoid collision and on one occasion was nearly run over by a cart. Of course, it would be unfair to say that no one was interested in them, for the many traders they passed on their way were quite insistent on trying to tout them to their stalls. Their shouts followed them for a long time before blending into the bustle of the city.

Smells were another thing that seemed to particularly get Xan down. Or further down, anyway. Even though the city had a sewer system, there were enough intertwining smells – including in no small proportion rotten foods and unwashed clothes, - to make an unprepared elf pass out. Xan was prepared, he declared to them before entering the city. Estel scoffed at him, just as she scoffed at Jaheira for reminding her and Imoen for a hundredth time to watch their belongings and particularly their money closely. Now she was forced to admit that both were good warnings.

She didn't really remember how they got to the inn and only regained some of her composure after a time in the blessed silence of the room she was to share with Imoen. Not that the silence was actual silence. But the noises of conversations downstairs and what sounded like a fight under her window were muffled enough by walls – she'd take what she could get. Imoen, on the other hand, fell in love with the city on first sight. She loved everything about it: the energy, the crowds – even the smells. It smelled like life, she explained to her reluctant friend. Imoen wasn't going to stay in their room a second more than was needed for a short nap.

After a while, however, Estel's stomach protested against this self-imposed incarceration and she went down to find something to eat.

Downstairs in the tavern it was as crowded and noisy as anywhere in the city. The Purple Wyrm was favoured by merchants and adventurers of all kinds for its cheapness, and the fact that they were even able to get rooms was owed, ironically, to the iron crisis. Estel spied Kivan and Xan sitting at one of the tables and joined them with considerable relief. Not that those two were the best company when they went on about how doomed the elven race was, but Jaheira and Khalid apparently decided to use the opportunity to get some privacy, and Imoen used their absence to talk Ender into giving her a tour of the city. It surprised Estel that the thief still hanged around, but apparently he felt safer from the Iron Throne with them than out on his own.

"Evereska is a wondrous place. One that I often wished to visit," Kivan continued the conversation they were having before Estel joined them. She looked up from the stew to regard him in surprise. Perhaps this time they weren't talking about elven doom after all. "I am certain it will endure."

"Then you fool yourself," Xan gave him a tired look the world-weary pessimist regards naïve children with. Or maybe they were. "Evereska might stand until it is the last refuge of our people, but eventually it too shall fall."

"Whom is it falling to this time?" Estel licked her spoon. The hot stew and the company of her friends turned out to be just the thing to return her confidence. Xan rolled his eyes and gestured around him. "Cheap alcohol?"

"Humans," Kivan looked pointedly at the elven mage.

"I thought you said you don't hate humans, back when we first met."

"I don't!" Xan snapped. The human city seemed to disturb him even more than it did Estel. But she was used to the vast empty halls of the great library, not to apparently beautiful and serene elven lands. "But there are so many of them, and more every year. Their lands grow, and inside those lands they conform everything to their way of life – all other races become human inside. Just look at Ender and Coran and… even you," Xan made an exasperated gesture at Estel who froze with the spoon halfway to her mouth.

"Friendship with the humans doesn't make us any less elven, mellonamin," Kivan said with soothing confidence in his voice, and Estel wasn't sure whether the words were directed at Xan or at her. Even so, she was glad for them and for his warm presence next to her. If he wasn't there to shield her, Xan's words would've cut deep. "We should not turn away from them, just as we should not turn away from the half-elven."

"How can our salvation lie in the dilution of our blood?" Xan looked at the ranger as if he was dangerously mad.

"Would you rather we retreated into our lands and closed the borders to everyone, making the other races see us as an enemy?" Estel raised an eyebrow.

"That is what I am trying to tell you. It does not matter what we do. Either we fade away quietly or are violently destroyed, the end is the same."

For a few moments none of them spoke. Estel couldn't come up with any convincing arguments and she suspected that simply telling Xan that he was wrong wouldn't be enough, so she just watched the beginnings of a tavern brawl on the far end of the room detachedly, thinking to herself. It was a question of faith, really. She believed that humans and elves would eventually find balance that would allow them to coexist without losing that which made them unique. As for half-elves, Jaheira and Khalid combined the best of both worlds, so how were they dooming either? No one could choose whom to fall in love with, anyway.

For some reason, the thought caused her great sadness.

"I almost envy Deheriana, mellonamin," Xan continued talking, and Estel looked up in alarm. She felt Kivan stiffen at the words and didn't dare turn to him. "At least she doesn't have to watch our people fade into history."

Stupid, stupid thing to say. The concept of quitting while he was ahead was apparently completely unknown to Xan. But he must've felt the same tension from Kivan as Estel did, and failing that surely Kivan looked forbidding enough for Xan to stammer into awkward silence.

At which moment he was saved from retribution by the very same humans he claimed were dooming his people to extinction. Absorbed in their increasingly heavy conversation, the elves noticed that the brawl Estel observed moved much closer to them only when a body was flung at their table. The bowl of stew was still half-full when the brawler's bald head connected with it.

Still holding on to her spoon for dear life, Estel felt herself being lifted off the bench and stuffed behind Kivan's back protectively: there was still a price on her head, after all, and they weren't out in the wilds where they were difficult to find anymore. But that turned out to be unnecessary as the stew-glazed human rolled off the table onto his feet and proceeded to head-butt his offender, completely ignoring the three elves.

"I do believe that Jaheira intended to make an early start tomorrow," Xan said with as much dignity as one could muster while trying to brush off the drops of stew from their clothing.

* * *

><p>The Flaming Fist headquarters were impressive, to be sure. Almost an entire fortress by themselves and protected from two sides by city walls, they could probably withstand siege. But Estel's mood was darkened considerably by the Iron Throne building they passed on their way there – the tallest and most imposing building in the docks, it was as big as the Flaming Fist's, and that probably said something about the current balance of power in the city.<p>

She couldn't help wondering if her father's murderer happened to be looking out of his window as she passed. Every face in the crowd could be him. Every shadow could be concealing his assassins.

Ender opted against entering the headquarters with them, which surprised no one. The six of them came to a guard at the gate and were immediately let inside, so Vai's messenger must've gotten through.

Scar waited for them in his office where he seemed to belong about as much as a drow on the surface. Broad-shouldered ragged man in simple but well-made chain and leathers that had obviously seen much use didn't look like someone who managed from a desk. Even the way he looked them over with his good eye – the other one hidden behind a patch not quite big enough to conceal the ends of the long scar that had undoubtedly given him his name, - betrayed an experienced fighter.

"Vai tells me I can trust you," he said by way of greeting. His voice, just as his movements, was brisk and economic. "I trust Vai. As it happens, I need outsiders to do some investigations."

"Do you want us to infiltrate the Iron Throne?" Estel stepped forward hopefully.

"Not yet," Scar looked at her doubtfully, not the first one to disregard the elf for her slight build and apparent youth. "But there have been many strange happenings within the city. After reading Vai's report I'm inclined to believe that they could be connected to the Iron Throne, but we will need more than my gut feeling to bring this before the Dukes."

"Where do you want us to begin?" Jaheira asked.

For the first time since they came, Scar had shown signs of exasperation. He ran a hand through his short sandy hair and walked over to the window.

"All right then," he let out a tense breath, looking out the window at the smaller building across the road. "The Iron Throne is not the only supplier of iron to the city, only the biggest. The Seven Suns in particular are their biggest competition here, and they have been selling off valuable assets and neglecting many of their more profitable trading ventures of late."

"Do you think they are being threatened by the Iron Throne?" Jaheira asked, not quite sure what they could do to help.

"No. I've known the coster's head, Jhasso, for many years, and I went to talk to him myself. He rudely rebuffed me, telling me to mind my own business. This is not his usual behaviour."

The adventurers exchanged doubtful looks behind his back. They expected a better lead than the strange behaviour of Scar's personal friend.

"Since he won't tell me anything, I can't start up an official investigation," Scar continued, finally turning to them. "But you can look into it. _Discreetly_. Report back to me once you've found out as much as possible."

"Very well," Jaheira agreed. It was a slim lead, but they didn't have any other options short of storming the Iron Throne themselves, and Vai had already warned them of what would happen if they survived that. "It is a place to start."

"The Seven Suns estate is just across the road. I'm sure your good friend Ender can show you the way," the mercenary allowed himself a quick humorless smirk. "I wish all of you the best of luck."

Ender was waiting for them outside. Scar's task didn't impress him any more than it did the others.

"Seven Suns?" he shrugged when asked for more information on the merchants. "Cheaper than the Iron Throne, which is how they were able to survive for so long. More honest, too, might even go as far as to call them honorable. Never miss their monthly payments to the thieves guild, I know that much."

"What do they pay the thieves for?" Estel blinked.

"Protection, of course," Ender smirked.

"As in extortion?"

"Come now, it's a profitable arrangement for both sides. The guild comes down hard on freelance thieves working in the city, and in exchange for a modest sum of money doesn't poke around the merchant's coffers. Everybody wins."

"So how would you go about investigating them?" Jaheira asked impatiently. She didn't feel comfortable having a conversation like this out in the streets.

"Might try just walking in through the front door," the thief shrugged again. "They pay off the guild, as I said, so they don't need many guards. And we can handle a few fat merchants, can we not?"


	25. Seven and Seven

"Greetings to you!" the girl who had just entered the shop bellowed, spreading her arms theatrically with an expression of honest amicability that was quite frightening to see. The tradesman behind the counter jumped at the sound of her voice and looked at her with wild eyes. "Looking at you I can just tell you are the man to talk to about a once-in-a-lifetime business opportunity!"

The look on the tradesman's face suggested that at the moment he wanted to be anyone but that man. His eyes flickered nervously to the elf strolling nonchalantly along the displays then back to the strange pink-haired girl and her escort.

"You see, I represent the…" the girl paused for dramatic effect. "Cormyrian Dragon trading association!"

"Never heard of you," the tradesman interrupted nervously, eager to see the back of them. The girl that stormed into the shop seemed to be a bit too young to be a representative of any trading association, but her bodyguards were quite impressive, especially the half-elven woman. He had his instructions – and even though he wasn't normally a man to question instructions, those seemed, respectfully, rather strange, - but you just didn't say 'no' right away when behind the person offering four warriors and a mage glared at you. He was paid nowhere near enough to deal with such situations.

"Oh we've just began expanding into this region," the girl grinned. It was a perfectly friendly grin, but there was something worrying behind it nevertheless. "Which means _you _could be the first to get your hands on the exclusive trading agreement for our dragonbone!"

"Dragonbone?" he blinked, now genuinely confused.

"Exactly, my friend! A solution to all your problems!"

"It is?"

"Why yes! You have troubles with iron in this region, do you not? Well forget iron, it is a thing of the past! Our especially hardened dragonbone will slice iron like butter! You, my friend, will be a national hero!" the girl kept chattering without pause for breath, the grin of manic friendliness never leaving her face.

"W-we are not interested in your offer!" the tradesman backed away, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. The girl appeared so sweet and innocent at first glance, but she couldn't possibly be, or she wouldn't be sent here. There had to be a reason this mysterious trading association sent her to secure this deal. Anyway, it took special deviousness to be able to effectively hide behind a sweet and innocent façade. Stick to what you knew, that was the safest rout. "We are not accepting any offers at this time!"

"Maybe there's someone in charge we could speak with?" the girl made a step towards him.

The colour drained from the tradesman's face at the mention of his bosses.

"I've had enough of this!" he bleated and stormed off behind the curtain that separated the shop from the rest of the building.

"Was it something I said?" Imoen called after him. Finally able to slip off the formidable bodyguard persona, Estel doubled over laughing. The others followed suit, even if for some of them a slight rising of the corners of their mouths was considered a joyous outburst.

"I do believe we should assign you to deal with the merchants the next time we need to sell anything," Xan remarked to Imoen's further delight.

"It was a strange behaviour for a merchant, however," Jaheira said thoughtfully. "Even when presented with an obvious sham."

"Hey, dragonbone is the real deal!" Imoen huffed indignantly.

"P-perhaps we should withdraw," Khalid offered. "He m-might be calling for g-guards even n-now, and w-we were asked t-to be discreet."

"Nonsense!" Imoen vaulted over the counter and set about rummaging around. "There's something obviously sinister going on here, it's our obligation to find out and stop it. For the safety of the city and such."

"Yes, they might be some kind of evil extraplanar creatures who had taken on the appearance of honest merchants. That would explain their fear of dragonbone," Estel supplied.

"Is that a thing?" Imoen straightened to look at her hopefully. If there were such creatures here, then the obvious course of actions would be to find and kill a dragon and use its bones to…

"Nah, I'm just making it up. Did you find anything?"

"No evil extraplanar creatures here," Imoen shrugged. "If we're going to find anything, it will be behind that curtain." They both looked hopefully at Jaheira.

"Very well," the druid answered after a moment of silence. "But we must be _discreet_. If something goes wrong, we can expect no support from the Flaming Fist."

"It's not like we normally go around barging into people's homes and massacring them all!" Imoen snorted.

"You don't?" Endar asked innocently, pocketing some small item.

The room behind the curtain was empty, though voices from the street penetrated through the door that was left ajar – probably the one the distressed tradesman had fled by. Ender walked to the door and closed it calmly, so that from the outside nothing seemed amiss. For all they knew, however, the tradesman was leading the guards back to the house even now. They didn't have much time.

They took the stairs up, not exactly _discreet_ in their clunky armor and creaky leather, but close enough. The spacious hall upstairs was richly decorated – perhaps too richly for a business in decline. Three men – the three of the Seven Suns, by the girth of them, - were lounging away in enormous chairs, sipping wine. They stopped as soon as they had noticed the invaders.

"How did you get here?" one of the men demanded.

"Oh, there was no one in the store, so we decided to check if everything was alright," Imoen said innocently.

"With the city in the state of unrest because of this iron crisis and all," Estel chimed in.

"And consequentially it is about iron that we wanted to talk to you about!" Imoen finished triumphantly, the Cormyrian Dragon trading association back in business. "You see, we—"

"No," another man said, looking at them with curiosity rather than alarm.

"But you haven't even heard our offer!" the girl implored.

"I don't think they're here about iron at all, brother," the first man said, getting up surprisingly fluidly for someone of his proportions.

"I think they're here to snoop around for the Flaming Fist, brother," the second one stood up as well. The three of them slowly began to circle the party like sharks closing in on the prey. For all their apparent harmlessness there was something unidentifiably… creepy about the merchants.

"But they don't work for the Flaming Fist," the third voice came from behind them, and the adventurers automatically huddled into a defensive circle as more people began coming out of various doors. Men and women – seven in total, - looked at them with almost identical curiosity of a cat that knows that the mouse cannot escape and so is content to play with the food for a while.

"No, if something happens to them, the Flaming Fist won't even admit it, because they're not supposed to be here," the fourth man said.

"Alright, now they're creeping me out," Imoen said, clutching her sword. It wouldn't be very discreet if they killed the strange merchants, but she was pretty sure they were in mortal danger now, so that was probably alright.

"Such a pretty little thing," a woman cooed, looking at Imoen. The woman herself was definitely not a pretty thing, or even a little one. But, even as they watched in horrified fascination, her skin began to ripple. There was an audible change in the texture of the air as it rushed into the space the woman had previously occupied. She was smaller now. Rich clothing hung loosely on her young slender body, falling off a shoulder to reveal a prettily defined collarbone. The woman appraised her new appearance in the same way one looks over a new dress.

"I do like this one better," a man, considerably slimmer than the rest, but not a prince of anyone's dreams, came over to kiss the woman passionately.

"Ewww!" Imoen protested.

"Stay away from her!" Xan unsheathed his sword, causing the man to smirk.

"Would you prefer to be the one to do that?" He too began to change and suddenly it was Xan, dressed in equally loose robes of the merchant, kissing the shapeshifter Imoen like there was no one else in the room.

"Can we kill them now?" Imoen asked, looking rather green.

"I concur," Xan said weakly, watching the scene before them as some kind of bizarre nightmare.

As if on cue, the rest of the merchants began changing, and soon the adventurers were faced with their own mirror images. They were only glad that the creatures had no power over their clothes, so the confusion wasn't as bad as it might've been otherwise.

Still, it was disturbing to say the least. Estel found herself facing down her own copy, but it wasn't the exact copy. Using the same powers that had let them gleam into the group's true purpose in the house, the creature had pulled the image out of her very nightmares. Perhaps it did that intentionally to taunt her. But in a way, it was easier to fight that other Estel with her glowing yellow eyes and her flowing auburn hair and her cruel smirk.

The seven of them were becoming quite a team, nevertheless. They were certainly better than the Seven Suns – or whatever ghastly monsters had taken their place. Seven grey and gangly shapes lay sprawled on the floor, returning to their true shapes after death.

"Doppelgangers," Estel breathed out, staring at the creature that was, however briefly, herself. It was now utterly devoid of the lush auburn mane it boasted mere seconds ago – or any other hair, for that matter. Yellow eyes with slitted pupils stared back at her, unseeing.

"That's new," Imoen prodded it with her foot. "And creepy as all hells."

"That is disturbing indeed," Jaheira seemed uncharacteristically shaken, as she had been the one to bludgeon to death her own husband – or at least something that looked exactly like him. "But it might have nothing to do with the Iron Throne."

"W-we have n-not seen th-them use th-this t-t-tactic b-before," Khalid agreed, his stuttering getting worse as it always did when the warrior was uneasy.

"We must search the rest of the house," Kivan stated.

"_Discreetly_," Imoen added nastily.

"Indeed."

They had found what they were looking for only down in the cellar. A cage had been put between the crates of merchandize, and inside it was a haggard-looking man. He raised his head when he heard them approach, and was immediately recognized.

"You!" Imoen pointed an accusing finger. "Old lecher!"

Whatever it was the prisoner expected to hear from his long-awaited rescuers, that wasn't it.

"What?" his jaw dropped.

"Are you the real one?" Estel demanded, feeling stupid for asking as she would have no way of knowing whether he was telling the truth. Doppelgangers were good at stealing not only looks, but personalities as well.

That question was evidently closer to the man's expectations.

"Did you kill those shapeshifting bastards?" he asked hopefully.

"We did," Jaheira confirmed. "Are you, by any change, Jhasso?"

"I am! Did Scar send you?" Relief was coming off of him in great waves. Relief, hope, vengeful triumph and terrible tiredness.

"Yes. I think it would be better if we took you directly to him."

They listened to the one surviving merchant's story in Scar's office while a cleric fussed over him. What they heard was greatly disturbing. The doppelgangers must've been working their scheme for months, gradually replacing every single one of Jhasso's associates, until finally imprisoning Jhasso himself. Finally in control of the organization, they began making decisions that seemed too deliberately moronic to be simple bad business sense.

"Why would they do that?" Estel asked thoughtfully. "Doppelgangers steal other people's lives and live them. Why go through all the trouble only to ruin the life you stole? And there were seven of them, too. A family. That's rare."

"It does seem that the Iron Throne would profit from such an arrangement," Jaheira nodded.

"Are you telling me the Iron Throne could be dealing with doppelgangers?" Scar frowned.

"Or maybe they _are_ doppelgangers!" Imoen offered her theory, wide-eyes. "Maybe that's why they're doing all that bad stuff, poisoning mines and hiring bandits and trying to start wars and whatnot!"

"I doubt that," Jhasso smirked ruefully. "They were always underhanded bastards who would do anything to profit, nothing had changed there. However… if you're going to use doppelgangers, why use them only to ruin a small business? Why not go further, infiltrate the guard or even the Council?"

Scar managed to look alarmed and skeptical at the same time.

"You're assuming the Iron Throne had somehow managed to actually hire doppelgangers," he said.

"If I were you, I'd watch my people very closely. Don't want to end up like me," Jhasso shrugged.

"Still, we have found no proof that the Iron Throne is involved," Jaheira said.

"But it all fits, don't you see?" Jhasso seemed almost as enthusiastic about this conspiracy theory as Imoen. He had lost six friends to the doppelgangers, after all, and was eager to find someone to blame. The old business rival seemed a good candidate.

"I think," Scar said slowly, looking at his friend. "That it is time you and I went to Duke Eltan with this."


	26. Small World

As soon as Tamoko stepped over the threshold of Sarevok's chambers, she knew that something terribly irrevocable had happened. The smell was wrong, alien to this place she had known so well. It was that sickeningly sweet feminine scent she had come to associate with Cythandria.

And there was the woman herself, lounging in Sarevok's chair, long white legs not concealed in the slightest by her purely decorative silken robe. She grinned when she saw Tamoko enter and raised her glass in greeting.

Tamoko gritted her teeth, fighting back angry tears. Summoning her here at this time was a carefully targeted insult on Sarevok's part. He wanted her to see how easily replaceable were those who disagreed with him. He wanted to put her in her place. Once, not so long ago, she was more to him than this. But this… _woman_ along with other leeches like that old fool Winski poisoned his mind, filled his head with dangerous delusions that were going to destroy him. And she didn't have his ear anymore; she couldn't protect him from them.

"You're here, good." Sarevok entered from the bedchamber, putting his shirt over his head on the way. "I'm going to Candlekeep after all."

Tamoko searched his face for any glimmer of hope. Surely he wasn't intending to take the ornamental Cythandria with him, and it would be unwise to go alone. If he took her with him, perhaps away from the city she'd be able to bring out his old self again.

"It seems someone has discovered my little joke at the Seven Suns' expense. Look into it while I'm gone."

Tamoko's heart fell. If he went to Candlekeep after his father, he was firmly set on his delusional path. Tamoko had no pity for Rieltar Anchev who in her eyes held the most blame for his son's cruelty and dangerous ambitions. After some of Sarevok's stories about his father she was often tempted to take the dagger to the man herself. But at the moment Rieltar was the only one who tried to prevent an all-out war between Baldur's Gate and Amn. The war Sarevok wanted so badly.

"If it's that jumped-up cutthroat Scar causing trouble again, do him the favour of removing his other eye," Sarevok continued with his instructions. He walked to the window and looked out into the street. When he continued talking, his voice was quiet and thoughtful. "Although I sense her hand in all this. And why not? She must've gotten to Baldur's Gate by now. It is a pity that I'm required elsewhere."

Involuntarily, Tamoko shared a glance with Cythandria. The way Sarevok always spoke of the elf hinted at the bond neither of the women could hope for. Tamoko wondered how much he had told his new lover. Did she know of the origin of their rivalry?

Be as it may, this Estel was now probably the only one who could stop Sarevok. Tamoko certainly couldn't.

"I'm sure we'll find a way to deal with her," Cythandria purred, walking up to Sarevok to press herself to his back in a proprietary way Tamoko found sickening.

"Was there anything else?" Tamoko asked, eager to get away from that scene.

"No, you can go," Sarevok nodded dismissively without even turning to her.

Tamoko walked out quickly, struggling to keep back the burning tears. She couldn't let them see her like this. Couldn't let that bitch see how much it hurt her to watch _her_ Sarevok fall to her wiles.

A thought beat persistently in her head: Estel would be able to stop Sarevok. She only needed a little help to catch up to him… But could she be persuaded to spare his life? He did kill her father before her eyes. Tamoko couldn't take that risk. And she was_ loyal_ to Sarevok. Seeking help with his worst enemy would certainly be a betrayal he'd never forgive.

* * *

><p>"You there! Yes, you!"<p>

They turned to seek out the source of the voice. They were getting better at filtering out the calls of merchants always trying to sell them something, but they did come to the market to see if there was anything interesting while they waited for the results of Scar's meeting with the duke. Everyone had found something to occupy their interest, and presently Estel and Imoen were flanking Ender as he showed them the proper way of moving through the crowd unhindered and unnoticed.

They were evidently failing to do so.

The man who called out to them wasn't a merchant, however. He made an impatient gesture with his hand and the motion caused the many golden rings beaded on his fingers to glint in the sun. He wore the robes of the Red Wizards of Thay brazenly, perhaps too powerful to worry about anyone trying to relieve him of his jewelry even so far from his order's area of influence. His face bore the fastidious expression of someone who, against his better judgment, had to converse with the lesser beings. All that made for an irresistible target for Ender whose grin suggested that here was someone badly in need of a lesson in humility.

"You look like you're capable of not dropping your sword on your foot. Much," the wizard said when they approached. He looked down his nose at them.

"I couldn't afford buying new shoes all the time," Imoen nodded energetically. Powerful mages didn't intimidate _her_. Even if she didn't have much time to practice with Xan lately, the girl thought guiltily.

"This is what I have to work with?" the wizard muttered to himself, not realizing or not caring that they could hear him. Then he continued in a louder voice. "I have a task for you."

"Will there be a reward?" Ender asked, thinking over which piece of jewelry would be the most willing to part with its owner.

"Of course there will be a reward," the wizard assured him in a sickeningly sweet voice. To himself, he added "imbeciles."

"So what's the job?" Estel asked, rather hoping that the wizard wouldn't turn them all to frogs as soon as he felt Endar's hand in his pocket, but surrendering to the peer pressure.

"There's an evil witch in the city. Kill her," the wizard commanded.

They exchanged glances.

"Well, that's very _serious_," Endar said. "Evil how exactly?"

"She… steals babies, yes. And devours them," the wizard claimed with evident displeasure. What he wanted was for them to just do as they were told without any questions.

"That's evil alright!" Imoen admitted, wide-eyed expression of heroic imbecility plastered to her face. "Just give us a moment."

They went into a huddle a little way away from the impatient wizard tapping his foot. The market lived its noisy life all around them, making the conversation as private as it would've been at the bottom of some forsaken shaft. Still, they couldn't help keeping an eye on the wizard.

"Everyone thinking he's after some innocent woman for an imagined slight raise your hand," Estel muttered, raising hers.

"Why does he need us, though?" Imoen looked the wizard over critically. "He has to be a pretty powerful wizard to wear those robes. I mean, you don't just show up before the zulkirs and ask nicely for it. Or I'd have one myself, looks spiffy."

"Wants someone else to take the blame, I'll bet," Ender shrugged. "Red Wizard or not, the Flaming Fist headquarters have pretty extensive dungeons."

"First-hand experience?" Estel wondered innocently.

"You wound me," the thief put a hand over his heart.

"Anyway, I think we should warn that woman at least," Imoen insisted. "Come on, we'll just ask this guy for a description or something."

"Shouldn't we tell Jaheira?" Estel asked uncertainly.

"We can handle it! Come on, Estie, you know that _we_ should be the ones leading this party, not Jaheira!"

As it happened, the wizard could give them more than a description. The witch – along with her previously unmentioned bodyguard, - was wandering the market herself. The dark-skinned woman stood out in a crowd even in this port city that boasted visitors from many countries, striking and exotic in her strange purple robes and outlandish amulets. So did her bodyguard, the giant of a man covered in fearsome blue war paint. When they saw the two of them, Estel and Imoen exchanged glances, barely able to conceal their grins. Ender, of course, had been regaled with a detailed story of their heroic rescue of a young woman from the gnoll fortress some time ago, but it wasn't possible for him to make a connection.

Meanwhile, the woman must've sensed their eyes on her, as she turned to them. When she noticed the wizard with them, her expression swiftly changed from surprise to anger. She stomped over to them, her guardian in tow.

"Thy!" she exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at the wizard.

"You!" the wizard growled.

"Dynaheir!" Estel said carefully, trying to calm the witch and avoid confrontation.

"Estel!" Dynaheir's bodyguard had finally caught on to the events.

"Minsc!" Imoen waved happily. There was a faint squeak from the man's shoulder. "And Boo, of course!"

"Imoen!" the witch sighed with exasperation.

There was a pause and everyone looked at Ender expectantly.

"…Ender!" the thief did not disappoint.

"Estel! What are thy doing with this man?" greetings done with, Dynaheir's finger pointed once again at the wizard.

"Well? Kill her!" he demanded and then grumbled to himself as was his custom. "Useless monkeys."

"Is there a problem?" the rest of their companions approached, attracted by the commotion. Surprised greetings were exchanged, much to the wizard's annoyance. Estel noticed that the space around them became suspiciously empty as the people sensed the coming fight. No one was in any hurry to run away, however: such street theater seemed to be a part of the normal city life.

"This man has been hounding us since Nashkel!" Dynaheir pointed.

"Why?" Jaheira turned to the wizard, recognizing the robes immediately.

"I don't have to explain myself to you," the wizard looked the druid's clothing over with contempt.

"Then I suggest you leave now." Kivan, as imposing as only Kivan – and possibly Jaheira, - could be, stared the man down.

Arrogant as the wizard obviously was, he was not suicidal. After a few tense silent moments during witch he counted his chances against a whole party of adventurers, he turned on his heels abruptly and stomped off, muttering quite audibly something about monkeys. The crowd, somewhat disappointed that the confrontation didn't escalate into a fight, lost interest in them.

"He will be back," Dynaheir said, staring after the wizard glumly.

"I don't see how," Ender shrugged carelessly, bouncing a heavy bag of coins on his hand. "Not until he somehow earns the money to hire some thugs to even the odds for him, anyway."

"You didn't!" Imoen gasped with her voice full of admiration and amusement. Jaheira covered her eyes with a palm, sighing. This definitely was a pack of children.

"Ender Sai, I do believe you have repaid the debt for saving you from the bandits!" Estel burst out laughing.

"Careful with such words, mellonamin," the elf grinned.

"Still, you should stick with us, al least for a while," Estel turned to the Rashemi witch, still grinning.

Dynaheir regarded them regally, before finally nodding. Estel had forgotten how ceremonious the witch was after her rescue from the gnolls. It always seemed a pretence to her, since Dynaheir couldn't be much older than Imoen, but that was the way she was. Perhaps it was a cultural thing. Perhaps it was simply another layer of protection for a young woman alone in a foreign land. She'd probably never know.

"Yes," Dynaheir said. "Thy do appear to be the honorable sort."

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Imoen beamed at the living proof to add credibility to the story of their very first real adventure. "Everyone, these are Dynaheir from the faraway land of Rashemen, her bodyguard Minsc… and Boo, of course. Did I tell you the story of how we rescued Dynaheir from this fortress full of gnolls?"

"Many times," Xan rolled his eyes. "I think there was one time when you even flew there on wyverns."


End file.
